It's nearly sunset --
I'm scanning forward
Into the horizon
Half expecting --
To see an orange bubble
Of Stalkadillo tent
Within the trees
Perch of a hill
The perfect space
For outdoor living
If you're a stalker
"Investigating" a poet
On the observation deck
Of coarse, it isn't there
It never was orange
Nor a gaudy bubble
I doubt it was a tent --
Of any shape or color
Tents are noticeable
It takes too long --
To rip them down
And scurry away
Across the fields
Without being SEEN
Stalkers are cowards
In the thickest sense
In the deepest recesses
Of that very concept
He'd never use a tent
It would be too detectable
It would be too overt
It would portray clarity
Still I scan forward
Into the horizon
Half expecting --
Something less pathetic
Than total pusillanimity.
By Lady Lost
Copyright � 2002
All rights reserved
Library of Congress Copyright
International Copyright
No rights to copy, print, download, duplicate, or display elsewhere other than upon this specific website granted or implied without the direct written permission of the author. Please contact agent of the author: Mr. Gunther S. Vanludwick at [email protected]
**As with all poetry, essays, correspondence and/or published letters, e-mails or other communications presented on this webpage, this poem is a personal subjective expression of its author's own feelings, thoughts, beliefs, and opinions. This statement is in no way intended to invalidate or minimize the powerful and poignant experiences of this author. However, this statement is intended to indicate that creative expressions such as these written forms of artwork are derived from their author's own personal feelings, thoughts, beliefs and opinions.
**As has been stated many times prior to this entry, Lady Lost's fear of the alleged perpetrator has been altered to anger due to the time span of the horrendous incidents within this case.
___________________________
___________________________