 |
|
|
About This Author
 Writing poetry allows me to exercise my imagination and share it with others. I strive to write for the benefit of the reader using carnival fun mirror images of my life's experiences.
|
| There's a time and a place for the things we can't see, When otherworldly creatures come to life, Be it ghosts, be it beastly attacks from the sea, One's death by fear is sure as death by knife. It was cold and narrow sailing Murphy's channel, The dawn had barely lightened as it should, I shivered as I noticed a lighted candle, In the old, abandoned house in the woods. I never was such a skittish skipper until, That damn precocious minute hand made good, Unperceived by my eyes on the six-alarm trill, The loud shocking sound killed me where I stood. There seemed slight problems with deadly morale, Although I'd transgressed death's regime at will, I understood the naught of death's dark rationale, I waited for what death's hand would reveal. Now here freestanding quietly I'm overwhelmed, This house abandoned, except for my soul, Unadorned, unattached, no more to man the helm, Come visit, I'll keep the candle aglow. 20 Lines
|
