When, oh, when will the horseman come
To take my breath away?
I pray I go to heaven above,
But to hell I may go today.
Why, oh, why is the moon so dull
and the stars so weak tonight?
It is because the horseman is near;
He strips them of their light.
How, oh, how did I not scream
When I saw his headless form?
Wielding an axe while riding a horse,
And backed by a raging storm.
Who, oh, who will shed a tear
When they learn that I’m deceased?
I have no friends nor family;
My loneliness will never cease.
Where, oh, where will my grave be,
A river, a ditch or beneath a tree?
Too late now, I’m already dead:
Flat on my back with a severed head.
(Reprint. Original publication: Fictionpress)
Anna is a full-time lab assistant who enjoys art in pretty much all its forms: prose, poetry, pictures and more. She likes to write spooky tales in her spare time and hopes to publish a novel someday.