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Literature Text
I lay still in my bed,
Mr. Ted by my side,
And listen hard for the thing
That crawls around outside.
He'll start with the scratching,
It's always the same,
His claws carving the face
Of the wooden door frame.
Then he'll move onto the blood
Seeping beneath my door,
Dripping from the walls,
Covering the floor.
The wardrobe will squeak,
Those green eyes appear,
Voices will whisper
Dark words in my ear.
Their dead hands will tug
At the edge of my sheets
And insects will crawl
All over my feet.
I lay and wait
For their games to begin.
But tonight will be different,
I whisper with a grin,
Tonight I will show
Those monsters a scare.
They can come back again,
IF they dare.
Mr. Ted by my side,
And listen hard for the thing
That crawls around outside.
He'll start with the scratching,
It's always the same,
His claws carving the face
Of the wooden door frame.
Then he'll move onto the blood
Seeping beneath my door,
Dripping from the walls,
Covering the floor.
The wardrobe will squeak,
Those green eyes appear,
Voices will whisper
Dark words in my ear.
Their dead hands will tug
At the edge of my sheets
And insects will crawl
All over my feet.
I lay and wait
For their games to begin.
But tonight will be different,
I whisper with a grin,
Tonight I will show
Those monsters a scare.
They can come back again,
IF they dare.
Literature
Waking Nightmares
Waking Nightmares:
It begins in the same way, every single night
Fire spreading from an altar in the darkness—
As all living beings are slowly consumed,
The coruscating flames appear wet with blood…
The scene then changes to a flooded hallway
Live wires dangling just above the water,
Like venomous serpents slithering in the darkness—
A single pounce would end my life…
Eventually the hallway ends with a door,
One that reminds me of forgotten yore—
And my thoughts shall be in rhyme at this point
As though lips and tongue are eternally joint…
What maddened schemes have they in mind?
It is not a questio
Literature
Blood Crusade
Blood Crusade:
They rode upon the backs of thundering horses
for faith had unleashed a terrible beast
These men would offer their souls in service
to the dark unholy priests...
"To what end do we serve our Lord and Master
is justice not the ultimate form of faith?
Should we not stand and fight in his name
to cleanse the Earth of this heathen waste!"
It was these orators, chaplains of faith;
men of the cloth who bore a fire
They lit their brothers with impassioned speeches
fueled by their own desire...
They taught their followers that blood was faith
and devotion was found at the edge of a blade
"Blessed is the mind too small fo
Literature
FEAR
FEAR:
Frantically he scrambles away from the dark
Eager to be free of his waking nightmare
Acting only upon the instinct within him;
Reminded constantly that he is prey
For some time he hides in the pervasive shadows—
Earnestly praying that he will not be discovered
A single sound is all it takes to jar him;
Running from a creature that he can barely see
From head to toe it is certainly monstrous
Enshrouded in an aura of absolute repugnance
As the acid drips from its cruel jaws,
Rapidly dissolving the ground below
Fearful, he cowers, beneath boxes and cardboard,
Escaping away into a tiny corner of his mind
Alone with only
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So this is just a quick little poem I wrote in about 20 minutes. I know it's not perfect and could do with some tweaking here and there, so suggestions are more than welcome!
© 2012 - 2024 Caylee-Slansen
Comments50
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this is a very very spooky poem. I love it. You could adapt this into a story about monsters and demons that mess with you and then you show em who's boss by scarin the heck outta them.