Cloak shrouded head bowed
Black fabric dragging
Ghost-like, toward an ancient wood 
Bare feet feel the cool damp grass

She hears the howling of night things
Beasts and unnatural creatures  
Ever ready to feed upon the weak 

Gray clouds part suddenly
Perfectly, amazingly  
And the glory of the lady moon 
Casts pale luminescence to the darkest wood
Slowly, almost fearfully, the cloaked head rises 
Eyes closed, lips parted
The kiss of peace envelops her as the fog approaches

Black eyes blink and hands clench
Knowing the battle is about to begin 
What foul beast will attack this night?

The fog creeps forward silently
Till it wraps around her legs in a familiar caress
Like a feline, purring in satisfaction 
As it drains all memory of love and joy and hope

Bare feet run toward the darkness of the wood
Sticks and rocks cut fresh wounds 
Beasts bay, screeches fill the night 
The shrouded figure runs and runs 
Heart pounds, hood blows back
Long dark hair trails behind 
Like a parody of a bride's veil 

Finally, tired, gasping, bleeding 
She collapses, kneeling at the base of a gnarled tree
Ancient as time
With crooked branches reaching high into the night  

All night sounds hush, eerily
Then almost inaudible, a soft rustle
Slowly growing louder, nearer
She knows the time has come
The battle must be fought 
She can no longer run 
Broken, breathless, bleeding 
Kneeling at the base of the tree of life and death 

Something touches her shoulder 
She stands, fingers biting into the tree's bark for support 
Takes a breath and turns 

And there is the cloaked figure
Black eyes watching, weary 
Long dark hair being swept back in the breeze 
Feet sore and bleeding

Twin hands reach out simultaneously
Fingertips touch, merge
The wood fades and the mirror stands in its place
Reflecting the same black eyes
Hand pressed against the cool glass 
Reality prevails and with it bitter truth 
You can never outrun yourself. 


 

 

by Amanda Burns

 

© Amanda Saylor nee Burns. All rights reserved