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.