SimpleArtForms

I run through fractured dreams — barefoot and frail,

Behind me — dark laughter, a haunting wail.

Baba Yaga, in her forest deep,

Reaches like roots from the shadows’ keep.

The door stands closed but won’t hold tight,

The lock jams cold in the fading night.

Just as her shadow grazes my chest—

I wake in my bed, safe, at rest.

The pillow warms, the blanket’s embrace,

Dawn’s silent light fills the quiet space.

I know she won’t find me, no longer near—

I’m no longer trapped in that world of fear.