Poetry

Floating through the foggy forest, I can hear the
soft falsetto voice whispering a simple children's’ tune.
Simple, the tune is, but not the words the voice sang.
It seemed as though it were a different language--an
ancient language. I look in all directions, searching
for this voice; this sweet, gentle voice that seemed to
yank my heart into a constrained knot of security,
but all I could see were evergreen trees, the dark
mysterious fog, and the moon-- the brightest, and
biggest I have ever seen. And suddenly, I see her.
This little girl has come out of the shadows, almost
as though she were mist, herself. Her hair were as
black as night; her skin; a pale ivory. Her lips made
little movement, but her voice had turned strong and
clear. And in her arms, the little girl held a doll.
And to my surprise, the doll looked like me.
The little girl, who looked innocent in her white
nightgown, seemed to gain an aura of evil, hey eyes--
a deep, blood red. Her singing became more
fast paced, more complicated. The amazing
combinations of the notes of her voice, turned
into a sudden chant. I suddenly knew,
I shouldn't be there. Fearing destruction, I
try to race back to where I had come
from before. I wanted to run back into
Mom’s arms and feel the tightness,
and warmth of her protection surround my body.
I wanted to breathe in the drifting scent
of my mother’s home-baked bread, to taste
as the butter seemed to melt on my tongue.
But I had not taken a single step, for the
girl stopped chanting to smile as I was sucked
into the empty hollowness of her little doll.