The Bus People

(Written for Grace's "Strange Encounters" competition)

The Bus People

Well-trod path, forks in the woods—
Which to take?
Which to take?

Choose one, yes, perhaps you should—
Run away,
Run away.

Lure too great, the birds don’t sing—
They know,
They know.

Air doesn’t move, no sound, nothing—
Don’t go…
Don’t go…

Deeper now, in you go, on your way—
What do you feel?
What do you feel?

Drawn in, they see your soul turn gray—
They aren’t real,
They aren’t real,

Yes they are, they live inside it, the old bus—
They have eyes,
They have eyes.

It shouldn’t be there, but it is, bus of rust—
How it arrived?
How it arrived?

And why, the path?  Trod and well-used—
They have teeth,
They have teeth.

Trapped, and gone, yourself, you’ll lose—
Sinister, feels sweet,
Sinister, feels sweet.

“Come with us
And join the bussssss….”