Inlove

by

Adam Gosha

I remember walking once. From Greenwich
village I departed, destined to
find meaning out west. Along the road I
walked for days. There were no cars, I
saw no transportation. Along the road I came
to many towns. There were no people, I
felt no one's presence. And though it felt
much more than hopeless to go on,
I proceeded. It was sometime within
the borders of Philadelphia when I first
felt the need to look over my shoulder.
I couldn't see a thing, but I felt
something there. It was
beauty. The sweet scent of Death, and it was
chasing me. Death followed my every step.
She walked behind me, her tattered white shroud and
sullen eyes, emitting pure evil and desire.
I was afraid, but comfortable, intimidated but
not drawn. I kept walking. I never had
turned to see if Death was still behind.
I could feel the piercing warmth of her
eyes, pinpointed directly toward my heart. I could
hear the gentle scrape of bone across
loose gravel, and I felt pity. She silently
screamed loneliness. I kept walking. She
kept walking. We crossed the Mississippi and
I decided to stop in Winona to rest. Some
how I knew that if I were to sleep I'd awake, but
when I awoke she was gone. No longer was she standing
in the moonlight alone, looking deep into eternity,
as she was when I last laid eyes upon her.
She was gone, I was lost. As close
to home as ever I decided not to go. I
drew south, and again I was alone.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Wallowing head.
by: Lee Allen
from: Kenilworth, England, UK

To visit all of Adam Gosha's poems, click HERE

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