Saturday, November 22, 2014

Xtreme poetry death apocalypse-5

More for you, I hope you quite like poetry, Reader! It's time for a spooky poem, just in time for Hallo- ... oh wait, nevermind.

The Reach for the Knob
Kell Inkston
The night is late,
And for every hour past twelve, for young Kell of twelve,
Every moment is Halloween,
Every bump a thump,
And every cat a beast.

Television until two? Not really a problem,
That is, until he needs to go to bed.
The bed that is deep, far down the hall,
Submerged in the darkest of concealing shades.
Like a lake that you know a monster is swimming in.

“I’ll just stand up and get going,”
he thinks as he turns off the safety screen,
“I’ll just get it over with now, and get some rest.”
Just as his one light goes out, Halloween night has returned.
All objects exude fear, all corners containing the unknown.

He sneaks across the living room, to not wake any spirit,
And ascend up those creaky stairs,
As he watches for movement down there.
At the second floor now,
Almost to safety.

Kell scans the upper floor of his horror mansion,
Ensuring none of the paintings have changed,
No hairy figures were standing in those unlikely spots and that,
There wasn’t a single window creaked just open enough,
To let something in.

Almost there, he hears the house churning.
They were waiting for him to almost enter safety,
he grasps the knob, open it up, and leap into the blackness.

Much better- my room is so comfy when it’s dark.