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When the Dew Drops

The air is still,
the night is black,
disturbed by frightening auras
down on life, high on crack.

Freaks become shadows
as still as the night
waiting for some soul
that next big fright

She comes gently, cautiously
along her fearsome way.
The warm night air grew cooler
and she wishes it were day.

He immediately spots her apprehension
and from it he draws his power.
That almighty tool that will
make him tower and her cower.

She approaches.
He draws his blade.
As she passes by the flash of
reflected light is drawn from the shade.

As the night air grows cooler,
the dew begins to drop.
His hand jerked over her mouth,
for him there would be no stop.

In an instant her foot jerked back upward
and he bent over in pain.
In anger he thrust his blade at her.
In a flash, he lay slain.

A gentle mist rose up from the ground
as she sat dazed on the street corner,
A bright glow rose in the east.
Suddenly she felt like a foreigner.

A woman's voice approached
asking if she was okay.
The tale of the attack was told and
the officer saw the light of day.

The sun shone brightly,
enough for all to see.
But the house remains locked up
and no one has the key. 
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Poetry.com 4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 0 reviews.
Dumka Vincent 8 months ago
But I was almost lost until I read it through again and again.
Michael Moore More than 1 year ago
Keep it up :D
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