It’s with silent trepidation,
I climb slowly to the top.
Warning creeks behind me,
will my heart just stop.
The turning of my stomach,
I’m feeling every churn.
A cold hand on my shoulder,
is tempting me to turn.
Now my hands upon the latch,
as if it’s in suspension.
A heaviness across my brow,
displays all this tension.
I cannot press my finger down,
to open up the lock.
Beyond the door there’s terror,
I cannot take a shock.
I close my eyes and turn again,
just in case their there.
And very gently step down now,
feeling for the stair.
My hand is upon the bannister,
my heart went on before.
When I hear a gentle creaking,
the opening of the door.
~
Daily Prompt – Churn
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