Pale

Wrote this with a particular scene in mind... A virtual high five to anyone who can guess which literary character narrates this poem.

He sits a specter at the table

swathed like death in darkness

A pale face the only light

the flaming eyes the only candles. 

Voices echo low and distant

or else speak from by my side. 

Why this shiver in my spine?

These gooseflesh arms?

I hear my name, "Go on, climb deeper."

But I want to flee the cavernous den. 

Above the old bat hangs like in slumber

Not the first of her kind to enter sleep. 

And my name, again it's called. 

An instruction, not a request. 

Why did I boast this "privilege?"

Deep underground I must climb

and try to do what's demanded of me. 

But my reflection stares back, 

young and scared.

And old enemies are the least of my concern.