Blood-Red Drops

Chris Collins

Blood-red drops blotted the snow;                                                          

there were no footprints, but I did go.

I followed those drops where I could,

and they took me far into the wood.

Jolted with fear by each step I took,

I trembled, froze, and in terror shook.

For those drops of blood alongside me                                

said this is a place I should not be.

Step after step, my heart beat loud;                                    

I felt befuddled in fog-like shroud.

Chilled as I was in most every bone,                   

I knew right then I was not alone.

Furtively, many footprints appeared                

out of a nowhere I deeply feared.

Suddenly, there was muffled breathing,                     

my only thought: a dreaded being.

I knew right then that I must run fast,                                                

or this bloody day might be my last.                       

I ran and ran ‘til I reached my home;

filled with dread, I ended this poem.

Chris Collins chose not to share his bio, but BP’s editors understand why. Don’t look back! Something might be gaining on you.