Death or Devil?
by Sabrina Dawkins
You glared at me on that dark street behind a building.
I didn’t see you,
the glow of yellow eyes.
You followed me, but I didn’t see you.
I thought you were impersonal,
a natural conclusion after many years
or an unfortunate accident.
I didn’t know you had feet
and eyes
and thoughts
and intentions.
I didn’t know you could talk to me
through “objective” lectures
out of the mouths of charlatans.
I didn’t know your desire was to have me,
as you wore the suits of friend, boyfriend, teacher, relative.
Skilled actor.
Walking in the dark alone,
you following me,
a form without form,
the personification of an event,
but you are wiser than a person.
They were wrong: You do exist,
and not as an end result
but a subtle process.
And you were leading me to you.
And I didn’t see you.
You were my beginning,
and you were to be my end.
You brought me into your classroom,
your world, your lies.
But He took me out
and showed me your outline, your suits.
And the subtle consuming fire inside ceased.