I Am The Author

Petticoats and the devil's grin

a spirit begs to come within

A crime committed, selfish sins

a cast away with broken limbs

I woke to stillness in my bed

listened to voices in my head

That held me like book unread

with snake eyes on a copperhead

A shadow flits and flails above me

at midnight hour, we clearly see

The souls we were, tell us a tale

rare sightings of a nightingale

She calls to me, a freedom offers

the story told, and I the author

Decides the fates that I would face

I'll write myself some saving grace

Direct myself to slow the pace

the winner of this human race