Wayne Leon Learmond

Rookie (12th March 1963 / Liverpool)

The Telephone - Poem by Wayne Leon Learmond

You know it's going to ring
But what does it care?
Seeing you tormented
pulling at you're hair.

It's lair is the table
Where the thing resides
And if it had an attitude
you should not be surprised.

For the thing likes to tease -
likes to cause you fear
Ringing when you least expect
When there's noone here.

Who would be calling
at that time of night?
For you're a loner
and it's got NO RIGHT.

To ring like that
Scaring you witless
Making you jump
and making you nervous.

These calls you've been getting
in the middle of the night
The silence is deafening
But you're too tired to fight.

When you lift the receiver
When you say hello
You know you're tormentor
and you're tormentor
has to go.

But the thing has become an entity
Battling for you're mind
It rings when you're asleep
Ringing nearly all the time.

It seems to alway sense
when you are all alone
And plays upon you're fear of the

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Poem Submitted: Monday, August 14, 2006

Poem Edited: Tuesday, August 24, 2010

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