The Sight
I feel it on the wind, The dead moves like flickers of light, As a crawling on skin, A movement at the corner of sight. A wish to be out, To flee upon wings of fear, Feeling thing behind me, But there's nothing here. The sky a vortex, As if caught in a spell, Of the darkest magic, Alive with demons from hell. The taste of the wind, A smell of sulfer adorns, The coming of rain, Something wicked rided the storm.#11 Written January 14th, 2002 © on Jan 14 2002 01:34 PM PST, Phyllis Thompson 0 • 6
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"I feel it on the wind, ..."