In Poetry

My Life is a Horror Film

In honor of Halloween I publishing my latest poem:

My Life is a Horror Film
Once I sat in front of my fire’s glow,
as I remained silent listening to the cold wind blow.

I peered out my window to see such a sight,
an impenetrable fog surrounding my cabin with all its might.

A tapping in my chimney was a sound I could not ignore,
until I heard a lusty rapping at my front door.

Afraid as I was to approach the offensive sound,
I walked toward the door without feeling my feet on the ground.

What would appear before me, of that I was not sure,
but my attention to the tone I could not deter.

My foot disturbed a creaky board and within my nervous system that struck such a chord.
Just as the rapping subsided I thought maybe my ears were misguided.
Was this fantasy or what this fact?
For this whole situation appeared so abstract.

The tapping from the chimney arose once again,
as this became a game I knew I could not win.

My body felt torn in two and paralyzed at the same time,
but my heart rate began to make a rapid climb.
From the door once again came the rap, rap, rapping at the same time as the chimney’s tap, tap, tapping.

Who was doing this to me and what did they want?
Maybe some disobedient kids wanting to give me a good haunt.

I approached the front door and tried to ask who was there,
but the breath to make the words I could not spare.

The rapping on the door now had a lighter touch,
but this fact did not comfort me much.

The door had to be opened to see what was the matter,
and to see the source of this disturbing clatter.
A broom was my only weapon nearby,
something I grabbed with my movements kept sly.

I opened the door the tiniest crack,
but out the front door all I could see was black.

With the tapping in the chimney becoming the worst,
I was curious what would get me first.

Should I turn toward the chimney or should I turn toward the door,
for this was something I could take no more.

Accept it I would if my fate was to die,
for on safety and protection was something I could not rely.

Just as I closed the door the rest of the way,
a light shone through the cracks that was  brighter than day.

Down through the chimney came pouring down smoke,
and I knew right away this was never a joke.

The front door burst open with a blasting puff of air,
and then I started to experience my worst despair.

With dirt on my face and light in my eyes,
I was convinced this was the Devil’s guise.

I was blown to my knees and now as I lay on the ground,
I was surprised to hear not a single  sound.

Sound of silence with nothing there,
like this force had forgotten me and no longer gave a care.


Just then I opened my eyes while I sat up in bed,

and realized this had all been in my head.

On my night stand to the left I picked up a pen,
I touched it to paper and on my memory I would depend.

My life is a horror film and I am writing it down,
while I continue to be the only living one in this ghost town.





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