Aug 2020
I walked into the house,
A timid mouse scurried away,
I heard the ticking of a clock,
The door slammed shut behind me,
All was quiet.
I stepped into the darkened room,
Eerie, dismal, frightening.
The patter of footsteps,
The blood-curdling scream,
My blood turned cold.
The thumping in my heart,
A thing creeping up closer behind me,
His bones rattling,
The push and stumble,
Nearer and nearer,
Bigger and bigger
Then the morning,
And waking up.
A timid mouse scurried away,
I heard the ticking of a clock,
The door slammed shut behind me,
All was quiet.
I stepped into the darkened room,
Eerie, dismal, frightening.
The patter of footsteps,
The blood-curdling scream,
My blood turned cold.
The thumping in my heart,
A thing creeping up closer behind me,
His bones rattling,
The push and stumble,
Nearer and nearer,
Bigger and bigger
Then the morning,
And waking up.
I wrote this recently discovered poem aged 12. It’s the only poem I wrote/have from childhood and I thought I would share here, as part of sharing my poetic journey (that by the way, is only two weeks old today!) I have now written 54 poems already! Who knew I had so many words in me vying to be heard...?
