On a stormy winter night, a gloomy sight much like tonight,
I slept without a hint of light while visions burned within my head.
I dreamt of gruesome rage and hate, untimely deaths and calls of fate,
Rejection up at heaven's gate- dreams that gripped me in my bed.
Drenched in sweat and scared to tears, I woke up and at once did hear,
The very thing that fed my fears, a voice come from the upstairs room.
The room, the room, where she had died, the wretched room that I had tried
To lock and never go inside, now called me to my doom.
I walked upstairs as in a trance, stood by the door, gave it a glance,
and whether it be plan or chance, the door sprung open wide.
A rush, a gust, a thrust of wind, a blast of breath and I was pinned
Against the wall while at me grinned, the ghost of my dead bride.
I screamed and yelled while I was held, I fought against the wind propelled,
And as the spirit came I smelled the stench of death's decay.
At that moment lightning flashed, the restless soul intensely thrashed
And in the time I had, I dashed, down the steps away.
Still in fright I flipped my light, prayed to God I'd be alright,
And now I sleep night after night, in my bright-lit room.
Still some nights I hear her call, hear the scratch against the walls,
Tempting me to roam the halls, to make me once again her groom.
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Comments about this poem (The Room by Nick Jordan )
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