Death Coach

Cold streamlet curld, from out of
the night wisp...
fancy'd bargaining in
spine tingling chill.
From out of the night, gauntlet
it wheeled...
Six steeds pulling, near
And nearer...
Cackling driver, at the helm.
Driving banshees at its lamps
either side
reared the horses, as
they galloped over skys...
Steam pouring their nostrils
chased to rear by the wind...
Levitating them, near
and nearer...
A locomotives, lost directions
for death stops...
But, arrowed here!
and I closed my eyes...
As if it'd go away...
Opening them, I vanished...

Touching clouds, as it
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