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The Pounding



The pounding draws closer,

as I carry on home.

I can feel the wetness

as it is seeping through my clothes,

turning skin to ice.

The pounding grows louder,

faster.

My pace quickens,

but as I glance around, I see

nothing.

Yet I know I'm being followed.

I can hear footsteps

creeping closer and closer,

and the chase begins.

Faster and faster I run

but the footsteps keep gaining.

I lose my footing and wait,

but nothing comes.

Yet I know it is there.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a puddle

carrying out the pounding sound I herd,

the sound of rain.
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Submitted on August 08, 2016

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Gail Thomas Claim this poet

As a 45 year old woman who has lived through love, loss and extreme happiness poetry is the best way for me to express my emotions. I have been able to document every significant moment in my life through poetry. more…

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