Vision Ghost

Rookie - 5 Points (24/01/1979 / Epsom, East Surrey)

The Screaming - Poem by Vision Ghost

It’s there and everywhere and all around this blessed house
The prickles and the tickles and the silence like the mouse
When the anatomy of the unseen of the spectre’s presence
Harbour the stinging of fear of a vapour smoked essence

Seen in every photograph the mist stares back yet unclean
The chill of the breathing air seems to awaken a new scene
The evidence is stacking and you know something is there
Where did you last place that mug? And the plate in the air

The door to slam and the footsteps you can never quite place
Sat unnerved when finger nails trace down, across your face
Did you hear a whisper of a foreign voice saying your name?
It came from the air; that see through entity playing a game

It wants to touch you and you can feel it’s so very, very close
Reaching out to touch you because it’s right behind so morose
Is the air and the hanging of dread when the substance leaks
Through the walls that stream to carpets and the smell reeks

It wants you to feel such things; wants you to think such things
From the black shape from the corners of eyes; tears that stings
As the stomach folds and you want to be sick with this new fear
How do you fight back something you cannot see only to hear?

When it giggles and laughs mocking your stance in this place
Lost and confused who will you turn to for guidance and grace
Because your daughter spoke in a voice that was not her own
Cursing your name and in prophetic damnation to your thrown

Before she came to crying, “Mummy it’s frightening me again”
You’re under attack and have nowhere to run from this strain
When the scratches appear on your sons face that burn as etched
Even this life isn’t belonging to your control as time is stretched

Prolonging the curse of the invisible hate, damnation and dread
As it plays at the piano yet the keys don’t move as though dead
Playing your faith as a crucifix flies from the wall to the floor
The lights that went on and off and the fear you feel to the core

Flies gather at windows attracted by this putrid stench of death
This pestilence of your soul that’s crawling so from its breath
Wants to play with you, it wants to own you; it wants to kill you
And drive your sanity to a place that the survived are simply few


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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, April 16, 2008



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