{Originally written in 2020.}
A thick fog had slowly slithered in like a snake approaching its prey—
He had been anticipating this quite a lot;
That I had observed each day—
Carefully I had watched him making sure he hadn’t caught on to what would happen it the next few weeks.
He was prepared, that I knew; that I observed.
He had noticed the sweet agony of his pain not too long ago—
It had surprised me quite a lot that he hadn’t even became unnerved.
From the shadows, I examined that he had tried to make emends with former enemies.
With tired eyes, I gazed to the moon before a breath;
I drifted into the man’s home as I watched him just sit—He sat at his desk,
Gazing at piece of parchment he had written before, in case of his untimely death—
He seemed to sigh as he read o’er words—
He had seemed to have sadness in his eyes in days before,
But now, all that was there was acceptance.
He stood, turning to me, his gaze hardened by grim days of yore—
“Is it time?” asked he, “time for me to go? Time for me to leave this world?”
“Yes, I’m quite sure you’ve realized that already,” I began, “it’s time for your departure.”
He gave one last glance to his desk before taking my cold, dead hand—
Then, we shot off into the darkness like an arrow from an archer—
We had just deserted the world of everything that man had been acquainted with.
YOU ARE READING
Shiver
Poetryꜱʜɪᴠ·ᴇʀ /ˈꜱʜɪᴠƏʀ/ ᴠᴇʀʙ (ᴏꜰ ᴀ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ ᴏʀ ᴀɴɪᴍᴀʟ) ꜱʜᴀᴋᴇ ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟʟᴀʙʟʏ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ʀᴇꜱᴜʟᴛ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴄᴏʟᴅ, ꜰʀɪɢʜᴛᴇɴᴇᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴇxᴄɪᴛᴇᴅ. -- Short stories and poetry that heavily revolve around grief, death, and mental illness.
