The distant sounds of cavorting heathens
ride the wind like whispered joviality;
I take slow, weary steps up the side walk,
wobbling on tired, sociable feet.
Those feet have carried me everywhere tonight,
locked up in their stiletto cage tightly, with care;
Click-click, the staccato of our travel,
Like dimmed silver or brass in the darkness.
The driveway stretches before me, the path to Oz,
Though I don't have the heart, I fight til the end;
My bed of straw awaits me and I'm okay with that--
I bid my favorite lover goodnight.
He leaves me at the gate and I walk through,
treading the cobblestone path carefully;
all the yard is still around me, silent--
and the eerie glass of the pool reflects the moon.
My mind plays tricks on me! Look just there!
In the smoky shadows beyond the hedge;
The bushes rise up like little goblins,
the trees like stick-women-banshees.
Shapes and figures, the colors bleached--
all blends into white-gray smoke;
creatures rise from mind to mist,
a standing ovation in the dark.