Shannon M. Thompson
Poem by Shannon M. Thompson
Snuggled down, in a cove, of pillow and cover;
As the song, of the invisible night, starts to hover. With a titter-tap, from the web, of the old oak tree,
Flesh, sounds the question of: "Do they come for me?" Fear, deepened by the wind's howl, that beckons the wars of night;
Backed, by the memory, of the boogie man, that kidnaps men, full height. And so, it seems, that the hiding witches can sacrifice one more,
To the devil's one-eyed army, that camps behind the door. You realize, while watching, the bloody games of ghosts and ghouls;
That even, the closet spiders, feel safe, to leave their darkened pools. Peeking, as the cat's hiss, muffles the witches' cackle;
The mind senses, it's not long before the dull fire's crackle. As the fading crescent moon covers the stains, of these sparse visions;
Night will swallow, the burnt images, of these shadowed missions. But, when from under the bed, comes a creek, shake, and rattle,
Little Davie knows: It's time for teddy, to go tattle.
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