The Mothman Cometh
by Michael Doyle

Graceful yet frightening
I saw him by lightening 
With two red eyes glaring
I couldn't help staring

Pleading his wild eyed mystery
A part of West Virginian history
This mysterious sort of being
That the moonlight might bring

A chilling whisper finds its way
To shred the last courage of the day
Feeling lost with the mothman's sight
Here in the fog that comes late night

The mothman cometh as a late night stranger
To fill the air with fear and danger
He is not a prank or any sort of game
If you're feeling like running, he's to blame

In this cornfield, you still your breath
Hoping against hope to outrun your death
There beating are the wings that span
Spelling the doom at the talons of the mothman

(c) July 7, 2023  Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved