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
18/10/2016