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Two o Clock
February 28, 2013
Two o clock in the afternoon
Tick, tick, tick
He waits patiently in the room
Click, click, click
The candles snuffed, the curtains shut
Black, black, black
A blade of all the most fearsome cut
Hack, hack, hack
The doorbell rings, some voices heard
Leave, leave, leave
He stands are raises up his sword
Please, please, please
The carpet soaked in sticky red
Why, why, why
The house is thick with souls of dead
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
© Joy Beth W., Oneida, KY
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This article has 1 comment.
bowtie said...
on Apr. 25 2013 at 1:00 am
This poem is really freaking good
So here's my vision:
This creepy murdering dude, probably dressed in black, is sitting on a sofa in the middle of some rather fancy Victorian-style house, sometime in the early 1920s. After a little while of waiting, a few ladies show up, talking among themselves, ringing the bell to be let in, ect. There is an invisible warning to leave, but none of them hear it. They all end up slaughtered by the man, pleading for mercy and all that typical stuff, and ever since then the house has been haunted by them.