Gazing at the ceiling over head,
I have a fear of something dead.
I feel beads of sweat course over my face,
and feel little comfort from this place.
The boards are locked and nailed shut.
I feel a pain in my arm from a long ago cut.
I hear echo of scream rise from out side.
I look around this room and nowhere to hide.
everything is pail the color of black and white,
the only colors that seem to give me sight.
Pain and fear drive me to pull out my brain,
as I see past the woods out to the plain.
I see them shuffle around this hovel of a house,
and I move from window to window like a scared mouse.
I dare not wait a shot for any of the undead,
for I want that to be for me when I am dead.
In silence I wait for maybe some relief,
so I may have time for my grief.
The foul have taken all I love,
yet there is no help from above.
One finger on the trigger to my heart
the other hold the barrel to blow me apart.
Tell me God is this my end,
and if I do this will my soul descend.
I pull the trigger with slight touch,
and my mind tells me this much.
I open my eyes to a pain in my side,
and I look around to where I reside.
I see color and its entire scheme,
and I know now it was just a dream.
