THE WAKING CHILL

“The Waking Chill”

The air was thin, the night did spin, where silent shadows crept.

An ancient witch, in a cold black niche, watched as the village slept.

Her eyes, like ice, held no device, save absolute dread,

And her threatening stare did utterly tear the hope from all your head.

Your lungs grew tight, lost in the night, with no place left to hide.

Then a wicked laugh, a broken staff, echoed from deep inside.

It didn’t end, it wouldn’t mend, the silence you had known,

A brittle shriek from a voice so meek, yet cutting down to bone.

You tried to flee, but couldn’t see the path that led away,

For the fear was whole, controlling your soul, and trapping you until day.