"doused" poems
i believe,
even the stars
get tired.
when the night sky
had folded them away
back into the darkness
and the moon,
that lonesome thing,
has doused itself in shadows.
so will you too, my friend
shy away from the light
as if it would burn
if it reached you.
maybe you feel,
you just are not strong enough
to face the day.
that the midnight hour
is a broken thing
and oh, the silence
is deafening.
and you and i know, even the stars
are tired.
you mourn for them
as their light expires.
Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 7:39 PM UTC
There was a tiny tea light somewhat hid and tucked away
Was lost; To be forgotten in dark corners of my brain
The other day you called me breathing into it new life
A weak and dying flame now once again stood strong and bright
Tried quelling it with reason; Doused with plenty rationale
No matter what I threw at it would not leave or dispel
Use thoughts as tools or weapons; They are thrown out by the mind
Attempting to slice through the bonds to flame the heart did bind
But no where in my cognition is something quite that tough
In any way could **** that flame or from these bonds be cut
This statement even would be true the weakest of its days
But as I'm talking to you with each word you fan the flame
Was living out a lie and yet was unbeknownst to me
I thought my love for you could die if left and just let be
However, now I know too well this lasting present truth
My eyes saw you and ever since, I've been in love with you
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 4:56 AM UTC
I always suspected electricity
Ran rampant through my veins
To make me dazed and dizzy
But unable to sit still
It made me prone to flights of fancy
So I left giddy trails of sparks
Blazing proof of my restlessness
That once brightly caught your eye
Once your gaze had found my own
My moods came in swooning flares
And you crackled alongside me
Filling my aching, empty silence
With shiny, blessed noise
We burned so beautifully
With my electric fire
And your trilling declamations
Light and sound intertwining
Like thunder that had finally caught up with its lightning
It seemed like Nature's order
A completion of the whole
Two halves that followed each other
Unthinkingly and automatically
So one day when I found silence
It felt like Earth itself was splitting
Panicked, I burned more brightly
Stoked the fire just in case
I feared that I had dimmed
And been the cause of this new quietness
So when I still heard nothing
I thought my efforts insufficient
And I ran my highest currents
Until my wires nearly melted
Thinking the sun and I were comparable
And anticipating a response
And still I heard no trilling
No crackling at my side
So I wondered if perhaps
I had shined beyond your limits
Swiftly, I contracted
Reined in my flares and doused the fire
Thinking sudden darkness
Might just shock you into sound
I finally heard the faintest popping
Not quite the rending that I wanted
But a break from quiet all the same
Afraid of spoiling the moment
I leashed my electricity
Kept myself dim so I could hear you
Though I felt the writhing beneath my skin
It finally became unbearable
So I flashed like wild lightning
Lashed out and struck the ground
Hoping for your thunder
A dark and roiling storm
Swirling raindrops and clouds colliding
And deep, ugly noise
All I wanted was your thunder
But in the end
It was only me yelling
Screaming out for downpours
Alone
Listening to my own echoes
Waiting for you to harmonize
In the end
I was always waiting
Wondering when you'd chosen silence
Wondering why I'd let you dim me
Wondering how it was we'd ever burned
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 1:45 PM UTC
The parasympathetic nervous system
is responsible for regulations
unconsciously transpiring
within the organs and
the glands of
the body.
Such as:
urination, salivation, digestion, defecation, and
lacrimation
(noun. ‘the flow of tears’. Latin.
from lacrimare (‘weep’) and lacrima (‘tear’).
It’s why I cry
even when I don’t want to.
You are the parasympathetic nervous system.
The (ortho-)sympathetic nervous system
is responsible for the mobilization
of the fight-or-flight response
and constantly maintaining
homeostasis within
the body.
It acts
rapidly, enacting an attempt at stability and
the necessary and critical ability
to suddenly escape
on pulsing legs or
cling to survival through
brandishing adrenaline-doused knuckles
and dilated pupils.
It’s why you live
even when you don’t want to.
I am the sympathetic nervous system.
The parasympathetic and sympathetic nervous systems
are two of three essential nervous systems which
compose the autonomic nervous system
(a part of the peripheral
nervous system)
that manages
involuntary
functions of the body. Such as:
swallowing, perspiration, arousal, breathing, and
heart rate
(noun. ‘the speed of the heartbeat’.
usually expressed in beats per minute. mine speeds up when I see you).
Individually these two systems oppose
but compliment
each other like our hands do—
pressed together and omitting equal force;
veins meeting
at the fingertips and throbbing at the wrists
but running amuck on our respective digits otherwise.
You are the invariable and unspoken reminder to
breath,
love,
sweat,
and live.
I am the sudden snap of reality always aiming to save you
but grudgingly willing to fight you and
ready
to
leave.
From the deepest lower half of my brainstem
and from every nerve
in my cycling body,
I’m sorry.
From all of my chromaffin cells
and from the truest parts of submandibular ganglian,
I am sorry.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
She's taken your body wash, and used it without permission.
She's used it twice before and
presumed it would be fine to take it again.
You never gave consent.
You even said No.
She's used it twice before so what's a third time,
or a fourth or even a fifth,
she's just hoping you won't snitch and tell someone
she stole something from you...
Your confidence or your peach shampoo?
She lied about the temperature of the bath water,
you were supposed to drown
before you felt the heat,
but you didn't and now you're
tearing your skin to shreds,
Self-destruction on the first date,
how sweet.
She wants you to wash your mouth out,
you said something you shouldn't and now she's mad,
feeling sorry for you is in the past,
the new thing is drowning you in the bath.
Your heads now under water,
feet kicking the floor.
She's doused you with her perfume,
just to see you choke against the wooden frame of the door.
Nov 25, 2017
Nov 25, 2017 at 7:15 PM UTC
Circles spin in
Circles spin in
Circles.
Introspection like a drill
And my mind sinks beneath
Forever where
Depths speak of
Years gone by
Like rising smoke
And you made
The fire.
Thoughts perch on clouds,
Fall among the rain
Into speech with
Thunder and lightning.
Flames doused,
You exit stage right
For a moment.
Fluttering chaos
Holding floods at bay
Walls built as
Walls break and
Water wins.
You come with floods.
You are the
Brain filling flood
And my mind
Drinks it all until
There's nothing else.
Water.
You.
Is this madness?
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 2:12 PM UTC
I look at the fractured streets
littered with broken promises
peeling billboards peddling luxury to the wrong audience
the contorted vertebrae of this country's spine
and I mourn
the death of the American Dream.
I see it lying at my feet with every step
like the broken-winged bird from childhood fables.
"Fix me," she wheezes.
I tried once, but it died in my hands.
Apparently,
"The Dream" used to be two cars
but now it's two good fists
the wisdom to know when enough is enough
and the strength to say it.
I was born too late to remember anything else.
Here lies the American Dream,
bruised and battered by those who vowed to protect her
doused in oil and set aflame
by misdirection
misdemeanors
and Miss Universe.
Here lies the American Dream
who was born from revolution
and died in its absence
who waited for a day that never came
who lived long enough to see the fruit of her labor
become a raisin in the sun.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 6:36 AM UTC
The proudest of men that walk the earth
Have been doused in glory since the day of their births
They chase after those who've run away
Speak when there is not a word to say
And their greatest endeavor is to convert the innocent
Hungry for the women striking young and brilliant
Unbelieving of a lady's independence
Sure that all women crave their presence
Like rabid dogs, the proud men search
For those to quench their undying thirst
To be loved and accepted of men of the heart
But these men only search in the emptiness of dark
How can they deny the truth in their faces?
They imbalance the world and its natural paces
No one can love an arrogant, proud man
But they search and search, yet they never understand
That love is for those who are willing to fail
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
Will a Phoenix doused in water reignite?
Should the Sun ever disturb the night?
As my eyes take their rest my mind takes flight
Then quickly plummets straight into blight
Straight into sorrow; reigniting my rage
And keeps me awake as if it were day
Awake to write my story/Awake to dwell on the last page
How dare I wallow over someone engaged?
Great Leviathan, Demon God of water and life
Lend me your strength as I overcome this strife
Baptize me in your waters and revitalize my sight
Clear away all the salt and callus to turn my scleras white
Drown the anger in my heart; cease its return!
**** the Phoenix, for its presence burns!
Drown the Sun so that the moon may take its turn
Allow my brain to rest so that I may have the capacity learn
How to fully move on…
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 1:19 PM UTC
We all want to feel like flashing lights
but we're just stained silverware:
rusty, dusty, *****
old, unappreciated,
hidden deep inside the closet.
We're only good for certain occasions
when we're brought out
handled with care, doused in vinegar
scraping the age of our backs
bringing us into Life, anew.
Yet some sets fit certain settings.
Appetizer? Main Course? Dessert? Dish Washer? Dropped on the floor?
Sometimes none at all because
we can be "made in china"
or from fine china.
*And I hated the feeling I got
sitting in the middle of the table like a tuning fork
where everyone was passing food around
and I was just vibrating in their rhythm and sound.
I've been through many sets
much not quite like this.
Still life repeats itself like history
speaking of which, is actually me.*
*I've been held but never used,
maybe I have but not in the right way.
I was made to look like a fool
and I feel*
**just.
that.**
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
(an ekphrastic poem based on the painting Nighthawks by Edward Hopper)
Four
solemn faces,
doused in gold,
like moths to flame,
seek warmth from the cold.
Darkness leers, but harsh light shields
these lonely creatures from their feelings untold.
One
diner desolate,
a waiter old,
and three weary visitors
are portrayed. The scene unfolds.
Most eat under the sunlight, unlike
these nighthawks who flocked from their households.
Some
loneliness darkens
hearts like blindfolds;
nighthawks’ hearts aren’t exceptions.
The woman red and bold,
the man in shadows, and another
man with a cigarette in his hold
are
isolated together.
They are controlled
and defined by solitude.
They don’t belong. No mold
fits them. They only have a
diner, each other, and lonesome souls unconsoled.
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 1:33 AM UTC
the gallon of arizona green tea that you only drank a fraction of.
the salt and pepper potato chips you meant to eat, but only did so in the dream i had last night.
the unmade bed that was still unmade when you flew back home, the one i still cannot bring myself to make.
the dyed green hairs i keep finding around the house.
the way you always pronounced 'mosquito' as 'mosk-it-toe' on purpose, and how you pronounced my cat's name 'sullumun' instead of 'solomon' on accident.
the partially closed closet door from the morning i drove you to the airport.
the faint smell of your sweat on my pillow left because of your hyperhidrosis.
the flannel you wore and the longsleeve shirt you doused in your aftershave, that is three sizes too big for me to realistically wear.
the empty taco bell cups in my car from your fourth day here.
the empty shopping bags from our impromptu mall trip.
the polaroids you really wanted to keep, but we couldn't find when you packed.
the pieces of you that you never meant for me to keep that i keep piecing together as though, like an alchemist, i could make you appear again though i cannot, and you are not here, you are gone.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 4:28 PM UTC
A waste paper bin
Left in the corner.
Containing little folded up letters,
Discarded as the heart was.
A gang of stupid teenage vandals having a laugh,
Disregarded what they had done.
Disposed of the butts irresponsible after having their smokes,
In the bin.
Not doused.
The silly lads.
Wandered away.
They did not see the smouldering,
the burning in that bin
The origami scraps,
Folded as swans,
Too charred to fly away.
Sadly written on the innards of the origami swans,
Words carried on love letters never to be seen again.
Their love was carried away on a puff of white smoke.
(c) Livvi
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 8:51 PM UTC
Never tell the girl with messy hair and wide eyes that when her father sexually abused her they were, "fooling around." Fooling around is a consensual act between two lovers, friends, or strangers in which both gain pleasure and to make her feel as though that is something she did is degrading and destructive. She's already been through that once.
When I got that anonymous question asking me "why is it when you fool around with your dad, no one gets in trouble, but when I do it I'm a ****** I almost snapped. The smell of cheap beer formed under my nose and the entire contents of my stomach almost fell to the side of my bed, however, I had not eaten enough to push all of my mental instability out of my mouth. I could feel my father's hands around my wrist, pulling, pinning, calloused hands scratching my nine year old skin. I could hear my young cries for help, and the tears staining my cheeks. I could feel the air on my ear as he whispered. "Tell anyone and it'll be worse next time." I remembered cleaning my own blood from the carpet that afternoon.
And I almost replied with a defensive remark, but I stopped. There was no need for this private matter to be put on display on a social media forum, because then who's the girl that "fooled around" with her father?
But then the question, it irks me to my very core, the reason my hands are so swiftly typing this poem between waves of hurricanes in my eyes. It's as if my dignity has been stripped from me again, no more layer of scar tissue to protect even the deepest layers of my darkest secrets. Nothing was safe anymore.
And when I showed it to my boyfriend, the look in his eyes terrified me. It was as if someone had just dropped a match on a mile long pile of bone dry trees doused in gasoline. But someone had. Someone had dropped a match on me, just as fragile and capable of burning up completely.
Never tell the girl with messy hair and wide eyes that when her father sexually abused her they were, "fooling around." Fooling around is a consensual act between two lovers, friends, or strangers in which both gain pleasure and to make her feel as though that is something she did is degrading and destructive. She's already been through that once.
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 8:59 AM UTC
I'm doused in pink
And people think
That I'm weak
If my palette was bleak
Would you think me strong?
You'd think wrong
I'm made of steel
And quick to heal
I may be covered in bows
But heaven knows
This princess is tough
My edges might not be rough
I may look like a fragile flower
But I hold so much power
My femininity doesn't make me
Some weak little daisy
Beautiful yet tough, like diamonds & pearls
Just like the girls with ribbons and curls
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 12:46 AM UTC
I
A body of white walls
houses familiarity
Somehow even familiarity
distorted itself
beneath raw cinder blocks
doused white enough
that I could see
the eyes of the past
the eyes of the future
looking back at me,
the eyes of the present
Must journey
behind the white walls
into the familiar unknown
For there is something there
Beyond walls
so very high
They
only crumble,
only die
For there is something there
I must look now
through the deep crevices
deep through my mind
For there is something there
Do I find?
I see people
I see minds
Beyond the white walls
looking back
at I
Why oh why
must I continue?
looking forward
only to
look back again
I am stuck,
encased inside
eternity
Only looking back
to find
a way out
a way out
of me
Me
I have always
been my own infinity
Inside, a prisoner
handcuffed to
the white walls
I am shackled here,
alive
kicking
Death
here in the
eternal infinity
Great intellects
dead,
killed by me
I am my own infinity
I must **** me
I will be free
no longer shackled
I am my own infinity
I am my own uncertainty
I am my own familiarity
It is me
I am my own infinity
The white walls
close in on me,
my own infinity
I do not want to change myself
I do not want to change me
I change
I die
Death’s kiss might be sweet
Death’s kiss may free me,
finally
Yet
I cannot accept it
I will not
I just want to be me
but I am everyone else
and they are me
my own infinity
Everything,
everything
Beyond the white walls
are nothing you see
White walls
everywhere
White walls
everything
Encasing all
of us
It is here,
it is here
The white walls
shackle us,
shackle us
to
reality,
society
There is forever
no infinity
in me
The familiarity
tastes of death
mistaken for
reality
society
The burning truth
The familiarity
the distorted familiarity
that
is
reality
society
We rely on each other
So much we shoot
each other
We are not strong
We are not smart
We can be
We can’t be
If we break
the shackles
If we keep
the shackles
I am in pieces
I am shattered like glass
I cannot do this
I cannot presume
Death’s kiss
seems sweeter than ever
(forever lost in my own infinity)
You see we
build ourselves up
so
the white walls
eat us up
until we are part of
the white walls
until we are part of
the unknown familiarity
Can I break
through?
want to
need to
break through
White walls
oh,
white walls
I’ve been punching
for so long
I am tired,
I am weary
Resisting,
rebelling
Far too long
White walls,
White mazes
Around
my infinite
familiarity
I cannot
make it out
of myself
So I
walk,
So I
walk,
This great
maze of my
soul
Humorous,
I call it a
great maze
I only walk
in circles
Forever in cycle
I’ve felt the
tears,
Fallen onto
the white walls
Hard
to tell
if they
are clear
or just another
drop of paint
Mind
loops back
on itself,
(always does)
Losing it
(finally insane)
A mad man
I am
A new coat
to adorn
Darker
darker
darker
Cracks,
crevices
the white walls
emit abysmal black paint
So-cold
oil,
(called paint)
I will make darkness burn
It stings,
makes a statement
deep within me
Have you ever
felt pain?
Have you ever
felt life?
Walls
I have forgotten
what color
infinity was
Happiness,
feels
so white
but
burns
so dark
Have you ever
felt dark?
Dark feels me
as I
wander,
wither
In
white darkness
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 3:53 PM UTC
That look you give me is like the light at the end of the tunnel that we all talk about.
That end
That finish line
The light I see is not an end at all
It's the beginning of something beautiful
Like a flower seed being planted in my soul
Waiting to be doused by your love
So that it can bloom
Ill wait forever forever for that look
For that one chance to have it all
All being you.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
Love has no place here in a world doused in shades of grey.
No warmth comes with winter sunshine; it's been chilled by the December Solstice winds.
The days have lost meaning within a destructive Earth.
Forever lost is the bliss they once knew.
Immortals turn their cheek in shame that no one else feels in themselves.
The apocalypse is upon a place once so promising.
How could they forget the beauty of what they had?
Why must they lust for more, to tear the world asunder?
Cast the world into an illusionist's fire!
Burn this blemish from what used to be a perfect canvas.
Paint them anew, begin again!
Exile the self made evil, the hatred.
Create with vibrant colors for a new being.
Bring about the miracle that they can survive.
They could never do it alone.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 2:53 AM UTC
Living with an alcoholic is like
Standing outside during an on-and-off thunderstorm.
You never know when they'll snap,
When they'll take on their meanest form.
We cooked, and laughed, late in the night,
And I walked her to her room
And put a movie on, turned off her light.
"I'm going to get a shower," I said,
Departing into the bathroom.
When I reemerged, hair still wet,
Tension - in the air - loomed.
"You need to treat him better!" she screamed at my brother,
Words echoing throughout the house;
It seems to me that once the lights are doused
And she's left alone with her thoughts,
Well,
That's when aggression is taught.
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 10:47 PM UTC
Confessions of a Blessed Hedonist.( tri word line)
-1- -3-
Lived this long, what makes change?
Time just flew, a metamorphosis divine?
Mind playing games worms to butterflies,
Heart desiring ever. saviors, angels, messiahs?
extreme cravings doused. what makes humane,
opiates in zillions, friends, lovers, brothers?
Cocktails, a million. Destinies unknown working,
Endless revelries futile, in times unconscious,
Loves instant, genuine. drunken slumbers dead,
Clean beds crumpled, uncaring deeds cruel,
Checkouts late rewarded. Unmanly acts shameful.
-2- -4-
Friends dear betrayed, maybe one dream,
Away bartered loves. among nightmares plenty,
Much monies made, that one love-germ,
Abandoned ethics many. under in-differences heaped,
Gods all rejected, faint glimmering self,
Except the Hedonistic! beneath mountainous egos,
World enjoyed fully, a sparkling life-sign,
Life wasted lovely. in cemeteries silent.
Morphing every second, causes matter not,
Into grandiose nothing, by destiny’s graces,
Skeleton cynical final. gratefully unscathed still.
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 12:42 AM UTC
sugar is how we got here
sprinkled on things
that were once plain
and thus made
so much sweeter
doused on the
painful qualms
of everyones stupid
life
poured on our
guilty pleasures
that keep us astray
from what we know
but sugar gives us cavities
rots our teeth
rots our soul
rots our world
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 4:30 PM UTC
avenue sounds are never agreeable, ignore the drift,
ignore the hum,
ignore the suburban neophytes in the city lights (I never did care much for hipsters).
ignore rapid eye movements, the flush red face, ignore the snapshots of you that adorn my semi-sleep state
I stare at my ceiling and see the cobblestone summer streets you once graced, long ago in the eternal occident, I want to ignore but I’m so very boozed, in a blue lucid slumber:::
eyes closed::: my head spins and sleep begins with the tidal delirium of dopamine drips, your legs, your hips, I’m drowning a bit, doused in a sanguine sweat inside a fantasy **** I’m dreaming of you**)
Synaptic friction
she is a pleasant fiction
flash/sparks segue a dormant memory ,
the two of us riding familiar highways::: she gazes at me with her usual emerald encased ocular torment, those limbal rings cast aspersions at the last vestiges of my will power, until, I’m done, done in by the divinity of her lips:::
There is no end to (your) energy
It even finds me here::: in my dystopian dream (eternal)
now
an inescapable, **myopic curse
(nocturnal)**:::
the nightmare of not having you near
Awake, I roll over to clutch for the pacifier of your comfort (violent midnight)
I find only a fragrance,
i flail, searching, when those flashbacks fall short
isolated into the banality of bedsheets and pillows pleats
(the retrograde nature of my reality, now readily apparent)
cdh
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 12:28 AM UTC
You are blue
Your companionship has long since gone away
Your words come slowly if ever
Your interjections have no meaning
Your passion is a doused flame
Your decisions are unfair
You are bronze
Your shine is lackluster
Your potential is untapped
Your enthusiasm is misdirected
You are rust
Your intellect is a-waste
Your trust is broken
Your mind is now clouded
You are brown
Your ear is unsharpened
You coughs are unnatural
Your friendship is valued even yet
You are orange
Your ethic is admirable
Your company is comical
Your life is my soaps
You are yellow
Your face is but fair
Your skin has blemishes
Your actions not so demure – but yet
You are red
Your actions are fuel for my fire
Your intentions are good but the crafted hands left wanting
You are Violet
Your pain was great
Your color is of love
Your solid perseverance is for me
You are White
Your brilliance outshines mine
Your patience burns as fast as light
Your opinion flares as bright as magnesium
Black is not found
Deep down I have looked
But came back wanting
Is that naïve?
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 5:59 PM UTC
Who is this person that I’m living alongside;
I don’t mean my girl; I mean myself.
Is there an alter with impeccable timing to hide;
a thought I think and feeling I’ve always felt.
She digs her hands into my armored flesh,
the areas I reassured could pass each test.
Instead of titanium she sees it’s made of mesh,
“I’m sorry that I’m not the best of best.”
We watched our house burn down
watched the last ember hit the ground.
I place missing posters of myself around town;
truth is I don’t care if I get found.
“A pox on your house,
you ****** knockout mouse.”
On your clean white blouse;
gasoline has been doused.
I wrongly take the blame,
and they keep saying it’s my name.
Isn’t it a shame how bad blood boils all the same?
Sometimes I feel like I’m presented as an open book,
with torn out pages and a cracked spine.
On full display but no one even stops to take a look,
missing the hidden message in each line.
We shoot the **** so incredibly breezily
but I’m reminded that I bruise very easily,
so I find a way to tap out without anyone noticing.
But it’s done just too feebly.
Burned bridges and scorched earth,
my decision to cover with AstroTurf.
Taking lives instead of giving birth,
and I’ll only strive to make it worse.
“A pox on your house,
you ****** knockout mouse.”
“The screams and the shouts
show us what you’re about.”
The beast I try to tame,
but can hardly even maim.
Isn’t it a shame how bad blood boils all the same?
I have this habit of never learning my lesson
and sometimes almost crashing my car.
It’d be tragic or it could be a hidden blessin’
what’s another addition of a scar?
“A pox on your house,
you ****** knockout mouse”
“We’ll turn you into scouse,
you ****** knockout mouse.”
“A pox on your house,
but not on your spouse.”
At least they aren’t that rouse.
“A pox on your house,
you ****** knockout mouse.”
On your clean white blouse;
gasoline has been doused.
I wrongly take the blame,
and they keep saying it’s my name.
Isn’t it a shame how bad blood boils all the same?
Sep 4, 2025
Sep 4, 2025 at 3:47 PM UTC
As firetrucks pass
And crowds gather round
The smoke billows through
From the sky to the ground
The town just watches
And silently gapes
At the mansion that’s burning
Right past the big gate
It’s four houses wide
And three stories tall
With a narrow tin roof
It would be easy to fall
The paint was chipping,
There was rust everywhere
But that was all covered
By the smoke in the air
“Is the monster gone?”
A boy asks his mother
She caresses his ear
And whispers in the other
“I’m not sure, baby.”
“But I hope that it’s true…”
She doesn’t finish the sentence
‘…or he’ll come and take you’.
You see, in this town
They suffered quite a plight
Of a demon that takes children,
Steals them into the night
Also in this town,
On the hill past the gate
Lives a solemn old man
Er well, lived I should say
If you guessed he resided
In that rickety castle
Well your guess would be right,
Now was that such a hassle?
He moved in last summer
And that’s when it started
Parents waking to find,
Their children departed
Without much thought,
The town formed a mob
To track down their kids,
Revenge the lives that were robbed
The signs slowly pointed
To the top of the hill,
To the castle past the gate
And the mob grew shrill
“It’s that man!”
“It’s that creep!”
“Let’s take him down!”
“We’ll band together and drive him out of our town!”
But as you know,
Mobs can be hectic
Then there was fire,
That part wasn’t directed
No one pointed fingers,
No one placed blame
For, you see, their goal
Was ultimately the same
Dispose of the monster,
The man in the house,
And now they all watched
As the fire was doused
The body was covered,
All white with a sheet
He was gone, they did it!
Good job, what a treat!
That night, the children,
All safe in their beds,
Slept soundly and safely
Happy thoughts in their heads
Their parents were jubilant,
All worry-free
Their babies were safe,
So they sighed “Yipee!”
But then midnight came,
To that boy with the mother,
When she awoke.
She cried and she shuddered
Her son, he was gone
Not a trace of him left
But an etching that said,
“I’ll be back for the rest”
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 4:18 AM UTC