when it begins to snow deception

and a chill scars your neck and spine

you surely know there something wrong

because turmoil is the regiment

chasing you with determination

No matter where you run,

the eyes of gloom bare witness

to attempted flight,

but you're in a maze of horror,

a maze where the gates to freedom

have been shut by fiendish winds

Now your stability suffocates

and a turbulence overcomes your soul,

the hazardous display of loneliness

by the moon

gives you the creeps

And wearing the cloak of death,

men with brutal knives,

walk like the shadows,

and laugh like blood

Even the wolves refuse to howl

because your destiny is so bleak

by the kiss of the dagger,

death comes home,

longing for blood,

be ready to give out your spirit

or your throat shall

be cut in a blood-thirsty relentlessness,

and your soul

shall shriek.

                                 By Kakraba Afful