PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

In every Life that there has ever been

One hears of tale that chills the spine.

Not even holding a black cat at arm's length

Will save you from the cold in the Horror's Mine.



Louisa can read your soul and exploit it,

While breathing the plume of a cigarette.

Here is a phantom of a beautiful woman,

Too dangerous to trust with your darkest secret.



Not much taller than a parking meter,

Louisa cast a demure shadow on the ground.

Dark wavy hair in a do that was outdated,

She walked along quietly where enemies are found.



Louisa would often leave a friend in a lurch,

And thought it was okay if you were laid to rest.

A life of hardship was her morning jacket,

And this garment would lie if put to the test.



She was known as a "street" by the authorities of the law.

Those who knew her weaknesses would often beat her.

Louisa was a product of her own sorry life,

And life in all its forms flooded in to meet her.



Under the cover of darkness, she left her borough.

Two black eyes won in a fight for territory;

These badges of defeat she seldom knew.

Off to "uncharted" streets to forget that story.



Past the vacant lot where she lost her virginity,

Past the church where she learned two faces,

Under the bridge that her dad jumped from,

She reached the limit of streetlights, and easy paces.



Fewer and fewer structures were out this way.

Stands of trees ruled these outskirts.

The night sky was gray and the moon was smudged.

Wilderness rules here, and knows what hurts.

Louisa knew instinctively that she had to be wary;

The night air was preternatural; it was clammy and cold.

The wind cut through her morning jacket,

It felt menacing and personal, intrusive and bold.



Nowhere to be seen were any of the streetlights.

Louisa felt the encroaching gloom.

Colder and tired, she walked even faster.

Her petite frame could be her doom.



As she reached the third crossroad, the sky began to clear.

The moon slid upward, the stars peeking out below.

Shadows from nearby trees stretched out like arms.

The sound she heard was strong and slow.



It rushed passed her ears as she turned her head.

The sound proved physical as it scratched her face.

It commanded the wind and whirled about her

And became louder and growled, keeping her in place.



Louisa shouted back trying to control her fear,

But in a show of force, it became only louder.

She started to run down the gray ribbon road.

She wasn't looking for trouble, but it had found her.



As fast as she ran it was to no avail.

It was on the wind, in the air, and was growing stronger.

She felt something trying to drag her backwards,

She let her shoulders relax and wore her coat no longer.



Now she was freezing, her skin tingling with fright;

She ran a zigzag pattern to keep her direction.

Her chest was burning with every icy breath;

And now the sound cast a shadow, changing complexion.



It was the yellow slit eyes that did it.

It was now in front of her, growing larger and louder.

She felt warm dampness running down her leg.

Moving backward to her forward, it then stopped to surround her.



Now Louisa tasted bile in her throat.

The sound had substance, shape, and the breath of the dead.

Her arms were seized and held good,

Her legs buckled beneath her, and she slammed down on her head.



She struggled to move her arms and free them,

But before she could, she felt the pain,

Piercing hot into her right breast; and another behind her left knee,

Louisa cried out for mercy and to die,

But the growling sound drowned down her plea.



Her blouse tore away and ripped up her back.

Her spine was scratched, oozing blood from the skin.

The freezing air stung the wetness,

And behind her head she heard breathing within.



Now she was prone, her one leg bleeding badly.

She felt herself rise up above, everything she saw was black.

Three and then four feet above ground she hovered

The foul stench of the breathing was infecting her back.



Across the ditch and over barbed wire fence,

Louisa flew like a bullet in flight.

Head first she flung in an arching pattern,

The wheat field came up quickly in the dark of the night.



Louisa knew her nose was broken,

And her eye burned for it took a stone.

She tried to stand for at least she was free now,

But only for a second was she alone.



She was lifted straight up, and now sitting astride,

Like a saddle on a pole as wide as a horse.

Another lava- hot pain, she felt in her head,

Louisa pushed herself upward; she could do no worse.



She flipped her right leg over her left,

Fell to her knees and started to run.

Only ten feet away, a hard swat found her,

Try as she might, the sound wasn't done.



Again, she was forced with her face to the ground,

The shadow being clearer in the moon's freaky light.

Rolled sideways and forwards, Louisa became dizzy,

But with one free hand she punched up for the fight.



The moon silhouetted this sound's giant form;

Yellow slits unblinking, and hell down its throat.

She yelled in defiance, "Not me! You bastard!"

Half- naked, Louisa took her stand and fought.



Louisa limped backward, crying out in anticipation.

The eyes came for her, and she turned for flight.

Two steps she gained, and the growling was upon her,

Her legs caught at the ankle; she fell to her right.



This time she felt a crushing, crunching assault.

Her left hip burned fire, molten blood splashed her lips.

Her eyes rolled back, as the moon slipped past the trees,

No ground could she gain with just her fingertips.



Louisa was expecting her death, her end to be sure.

Another crunch on her head; this time she could not scream.

As she closed her eyes to die in this field,

The moon slipped from sight, the ground yielding steam.



She awoke under the sun, and the air was sweet.

The yellow eyes were gone, and her hip mostly eaten.

Louisa, half devoured, half- dead, half- alive,

Could not believe how death had been beaten.



She stumbled and fell, but she arose and limped forward.

Louisa headed for the road, but pain overtook her.

She picked out a nearby tree to rest under,

Begging the sun to please, overlook her.



Fatigued and bloody, dirty and thirsty, Louisa fell fast asleep.

When next she came to, the sky was purple again.

Dusk was upon her and she knew a new fear.

The question was not "if", the question was "when".



Determined to escape, to live, to win,

Louisa got up from the tree and not a minute too soon.

She spied a farmhouse past the trees to her right,

She had to move now to race the rising moon.



As she got closer to the house she cried out for help,

And from within she could hear voices respond.

As she reached the gate of the yard, the voices were muffled,

Looking over her shoulder the moon was rising from beyond.



As Louisa reached the back door she had hoped to be saved.

She heard growling instead, and the family's cries.

She backed away from the door as it burst open.

Death came ever so slowly- it was the yellow slit eyes.