I speak abroad, I talk aloud,
Upon this soil, with winters shroud,
I'm strolling down, this path I know,
To a place, I need to go,
When all of a sudden, I hear a noise,
Quickly I stiffen, swiftly I poise.
Up in the air, I see a sight,
Gives me chills, spells my fright,
For, in the sky, above my head,
I spy a ghost, a man who's dead,
Upon his face, he adorns a mask,
And in his hands, he grips a flask.
With haggard stature, he drifts,
Flowing in wind, his clothing shifts,
While I stand, in horrid fear,
He begins to speak, a voice I hear,
"Fellow man, cross not thy ground,
To move ahead, is death you've found."
Eyes wide open, I stare in deep,
Into the face, a spectral weep,
For, on his mask, I spy tears,
They melt away, my aging years,
For a reason, I cannot fathom,
I think I believe, this phantom.
With dimming silence, and simple calm,
I wash away, my fretful qualm,
For, his coat of rags, and skin of rot,
Forms my quest, a bloodless clot,
If I wish, to go on my way,
I must reveal, the why today.
Fellow ghost, I speak in fright,
"Why do thou come, to knell in my sight?"
Pausing quickly, I sigh in breath,
I feel the force, of speaking to death,
"Dearest comrade, I say I am scared,
Why did thou come, warnings doth shared?"
In tormenting time, the vision stood still,
Then in raspy shrill, he issued his will,
"Do not pass, beyond the true of birds,
As mortal death approaches, thy words,
Vile hate emanates, around thy wake,
Of steps in rhyme, thou feet doth quake."
Confused within, my mind I stare,
Wanting to be home, upon a chair,
Yet, part of me, has to stay,
As I urge to flee, to where I lay,
So I shall wake, within my bed,
To run away, from dreams of dead.
Thus I stand, frozen in stance,
Never moving, for dreary chance,
That livid death, was ever right,
And my fear is true, of grizzly fright,
So I stand forever, never going back,
Within the unknown, of courage I lack.