Banshee

I tremble at the sound of her siren
call and the power behind it. No knife,
no matter how sharp, could cut with such speed;

I am driven unto madness by speed
pulsing through my veins. Awakened by the siren
that marks her presence, as sure as a knife

would scar my flesh. But, unlike with a knife,
I can carry on, maintaining the speed
needed to answer such a fatal siren.

She wield's her siren like a knife, such speed.


2009 Poetry Survivor Challenge, Q-16