It looms over my days,
It haunts my nights,
The further I try to go,
It is again before my eyes.
The sweat trickling down,
My heart beating fast,
It always makes me feel,
This breath is my last.
Like an eight-legged octopus,
It entraps and engulfs me,
The more I shrink back,
Clearly the shadow I see.
My senses seem to give away,
When it comes very near,
And then I realize that
The ghostly figure is fear.
Aneesha Myles
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fear-157/
