The
Myth-Man
They all feared the myth-man,
and shivered as they danced
after telling his scary stories
in front of the fire.
They didn’t know
he watched them through the window,
hearing their stories, smelling their fear.
He stood silent and still,
gazing through the blurred glass.
He, too, was shivering.
He waited, watching,
then turned away into the deep darkness.
He crept his way back
to the hovel where he hid,
its warped wooden door strung with thorns.
He lived alone, so he lay alone
as he longed for just one dance.
and shivered as they danced
after telling his scary stories
in front of the fire.
They didn’t know
he watched them through the window,
hearing their stories, smelling their fear.
He stood silent and still,
gazing through the blurred glass.
He, too, was shivering.
He waited, watching,
then turned away into the deep darkness.
He crept his way back
to the hovel where he hid,
its warped wooden door strung with thorns.
He lived alone, so he lay alone
as he longed for just one dance.
Cynthia Pitman
I am a retired high school English teacher. I
began writing again this past summer after a 30-year hiatus. I have recently
had poetry published in Vita Brevis, Postcard Poems and Prose, Right
Hand Pointing, Ekphrastic Review, Literary Yard, Amethyst
Review, Adelaide Literary Magazine, Three Line Poetry, Leaves
of Ink, Third Wednesday, and Mused. I have had fiction published in Red
Fez, Saw Palm: Florida Literature and Art and Dual Coast Magazine. My first poetry collection, The White
Room, is forthcoming from Kelsay Books.
Tags:
Poetry