I sit on an island surrounded by sea,
an island hard and made of stone,
the waves rise around it,
waves of grass,
and waves of shadow.
The island I sit on is hard and alone,
and the sea of shadows
whispers around me.
The tree beside me is tall and old,
speckled like a leopard
with eerie shadows,
shadows born in the flickering light,
from the flashlight I grip with fingers cold as ice.
the tree reaches a twisted arm,
a twisted branch,
above my head,
a hundred leafy fingers spread
as if reaching out to grab me.
And through the leaves I see patches
of star filled sky,
gazing down up on me, like a million eyes.
The road before me is silent and empty.
Cars rarely pass on this lonely road.
A streetlamp shines a ghostly light
upon its emptiness,
like a light shining on an empty stage.
The house across the street seems to stare at me,
through eyes made of lifeless gray panes of glass,
and the blank stare chills me to the bone.
And shivering on an island of stone,
I sit,
afraid,
cold,
and alone.