Terror, red hot, swaps my being.
Irrational and out of the blue.
With no reason at all, it seems even more dangerous.
Like a haunting breeze creeping up my back,
putting the hairs on end.
Feeling the need to look over my shoulders,
I find nothing but the everyday scene.
Why do I feel so?
there is certainly no need to fear,
or is there?
Like ghosts of the dead,
the shadows grow in strength.
But it is midday.
My head whips around,
like a deer hearing the crackle of leaves,
as the hunter moves in for the kill.
I can feel their eyes....
I am the Prey but who is the Predator?
Is there something wrong with me?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
ohhh there is nothing wrong with you...in this crooked society we have to always live in fear....and doubt..the world is in a chaotic confusion that we feel we are wretched victims of all sorts of predators.... great write....thanks 10++