A shadow passed my window late last night,
Pitch black against the brightness of the light
Cast by the bright full moon above the roofs
Of the dark, sleeping houses opposite.
The shadow was a shapeless thing but seemed
To be a living, conscious entity.
As it passed my window, I thought I heard
It say the words “You’ll be in my world soon”.
Did I really hear those dreadful words, or
Was it simply my imagination?
What was that thing? Was it all just a dream,
Or did I really see and hear some being that
Was sent to tell me of approaching death?
Was it a warning, of a fate that I
Could avoid if I took care of my soul,
Or a promise of some terror to come,
The reward for a life misspent,
During which I had served only myself,
And thought little of those worse off than me?
Is it too late? Is there time to repent?