Footsteps

Footsteps approach.
In my heart there is reproach.
Is it good or is it bad?
The uncertanty in this drives me mad.
Are they coming to kill me, or take me grand?
To higher plaines I never planned.
I hope it's not the footsteps of the damned.
To crush my soul with eternal cold.
The footsteps now grow very bold.
Inside I'm feeling dreads not told.
What will these footsteps hold?
I'll soon find out.
They're quite close now.

poem by Michael McParland
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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