Camelot

Camelot

Friday, February 13, 2015

Her Caller




She could hear a whisper in the air
A soft lilting call
Her name wafting in the breeze
In the time of dreams
In the season of fall

A feminine sultriness it did contain
As [she] singularly
Repeated her name
A breath, a sigh, a shade
But when she sought
There was nothing at all

The cold chilled her bones
Not of fright
In this old house made of stone
The trees and vines have overgrown
She gazed out into the stygian night
The moon was nowhere in sight
Deserted by the stars
There was not a smidgen of light

She had heard the call many times before
Never knowing what [she] was calling for
The sultry voice
Who whispers in the dead of night
Always her name
Always the same

She wrapped the quilt tighter
Around her small frame
She thought
She would stay here
Just this one night
But little did she know
She was where the caller came
And there
She will forever remain

Copyright © Allene Angelica 2015