The street

Walking the troubled

midnight lanes,

the street lights blink

at me in warning,

and I am caught up

in getting home

and getting away.


Familiarity does not

stop the lurking shadows

from reflecting clear

off the witness of windows

lining the moon-struck street,

bringing my fear into the

steady patter of my feet.


They click and clack along

the hollow way and echo

with the beat of my race

that possesses me

as I draw ever closer

to my waiting home,

and to the door that

will be my heaven’s gate.


But then from behind

the shadows form anew,

and the urgent patter of my

nervous tired feet,

with the rising of

my heart’s lonely pulse,

is matched with

the equal heavy

and insistent tread

falling on the street.


Now loud and louder

and calling me to flee,

the sound draws

ever closer with that

heavy threatening beat;

and my legs are independent

and full of pain extreme,

as I run with desperation,

hoping that it’s not too late.


In memory of Jill Meagher