poetry — mind

Ghost Walk

You pays your money to hear the tale!

Image sourced from Pixabay

It’s a ghost walk, not a cake walk
There’s no money-back here,
’Cause a dead mans cold hand
Slapped you hard on your rear.

He’s invisible night
You can’t see him at all,
‘Watch your feet on those steps, else you stumble and fall.’

Then whose cold hands will grip you?
Hold you hard in, ‘just that way.’
Not a mere mortal man,
Not a human man, nay.

But a man with no heart,
With no life of his own.
Cursed, abandoned and dead
Buried long ‘neath these stones.

I can’t tell you his story,
I don’t know what it is
But a ghost walk’s a ghost walk;
And this ghost walk’s his.

© Cathie Bagley