The Uninvited (P1)
2: am it begins again, the banging the scratching
only now its louder than it has ever been.
It all began six nights ago,
the disembodied voices whispering just
below the darkness. And the odor of rotting
flesh that gets even stronger after night fall.
Trying to hold on to my sanity while attempting
to make sense of it all.
A crucifix along my nightstand used to hang on
my wall until the day i began to notice that the
more i would turn it right side up it would still continue
I have been a devout catholic for most of my life
often i would kneel down to pray. When The disturbances
continued i looked to the church but they quietly turn
As i straddle my bed in terror not daring to move
a limb.I call upon my savior Jesus Christ with all of my
faith within.While attempting to document this madness
my bed moves across the floor, my door knob continues
to rattle as my nerve begins to fade.
Somthing without form attempts to enter my room
this leaves me frozen in fear.To be continued...
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
For our very souls are his prize.
Comments about this poem (The Uninvited (P1) by nathaniel watkins )
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