Sonnet 485

I hear him ride behind me in the dark,
The hoof beats gaining, mounting ever fast;
His black horse silhouettes at lightning’s spark
And on it’s back, the rider, shadow cast.
His form has dogged my journey since I left
And oft I see his shadow in the trees,
Sometimes so close it seems I feel his breath,
Which chills me as some frigid fetid breeze.
Undaunted still I push yet ever on,
My steed’s slick sweat reflecting bright the moon,
Reminding me his strength is nearly gone
And soon that mighty back will sway and swoon;
Then I to brave at last that fearsome knave,
Where none have yet survived his crooked blade.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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