Posted by: Ron DuBour | May 28, 2015

The Thing~by Norman Wilson



The Thing

Violet was the skies that came before
Before the beast that stood at my door
It tapped; it wrapped to come within
It beat; it pounded like a gushing wind

I cringe and wince to the noise it brings
Brought forth by such a hideous thing
In the dark, that haunts my toiled soul
It hungers why, for what intended goal

It bangs to the shattering of thy ears
As I quiver and shake to my open fear
While I stare thru a broken pane glass
Praying that the beating will stop, alas

I lean once more towards the my door
To the shaking roof down to the floor
As silence chilled the room in dead air
I became transfixed on what was there

Was it imagination that filled my head
Or perching of dreams above my bed
That spellbound me to the living dead
From the book of Poe that I just read


  1. great

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