She could call you,
From a phone in heaven.
Softly spoken, breathing low.
Whispering of what might have been
The Grimming’s light entreats the tone
Of the bells in dreaded silence’ moan.
She might ring you, and tell you when
You might expect, bereft, to see her again.
She may even tease at the exact place,
Her face, her face; such a doom’ed grace.
She might send shiver in air, to creep slowly
In Holy trivialities that she might share.
In the window of memory’s faded light,
She might trample the heart,
Blood mustered from sight.
She might smile as vile tongue speaks soft
Aloft, aloft, for her words are oft’ the weapons,
The swords of the quaffed, and topped
With venomous gilding. Like lightning;
Stopping the heart from beating.
Let her hear your darkened frown,
Down dreamless sleep she might invade;
Her gently inching touch parades
In Arachnid webs and stench of corpse
Her entire existence, for mind; it warps
Her final whim, a quick goodbye;
Of hunted trauma and mysterious lie.
Your only hope, to try and hide
A wistful wight may deride
This fingerless wretch
Don’t let her fetch
Or let her snatch
Your soul, your soul,
That she’ll catch.