She walks slow, tread heavy
her breath mid-winters night.
Unseen, her gaze wanders,
grazing those in sight.
Few know she's there, those priveledged,
for she dwells where none may follow.
Mistress to fortune, servant to future,
she's in the coming of the morrow.
When all is quiet, life rolls on,
a ripple throughout time.
Her soulless gaze settles on one,
sends a shiver down their spine.
Naive, they put it down to weather,
or someone dancing on their grave,
but no ordinary person is touched,
by the eye of Destiny's dark slave.
She walks slow, tread heavy,
her breath mid-winters night.
Unseen, her gaze wanders,
are you within her sight?
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100 Ways to Say This
PoetryPoems and short stories about my life. Sometimes quirky, sometimes sad, always true. (All my poems have been shifted here...in case somebody somewhere was wondering...)