Periphery Vision

Just out of reach,
On the periphery,
I see from the corner,
The corner of my eye,
Just out of view,
A flash of black,
A wisp smoke.
Or the touch barely felt
Of cold fingers lightly landing
To freeze my shoulder,
Yet when I look not there.
A whisper barely heard
Calls my name gently.
Is this stalker death
Keeping his prey in sight?
Invisible but ever present.
Ready to present an invitation.
An invitation to the dance,
The dance of death.
We know those steps,
Though intricate,
Know without rehearsal.
Born with the knowledge,
To have to acknowledge,
Our mortality.
And waiting,
Just on the periphery,
Death.

Copyright P H Brookes 2012

poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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