Not The Wind
Your body filled with a dreadful chill, Stared at your desk, and the white old quill. Windy night, the quill moved slight, You turned the switch, seeking light.
No light came, the bulb was dead, You thought of going back to bed. Suddenly noticed, quill moved slight, You approached, with all your might.
Not the wind, window was closed, Heart raced, a message exposed. You read in horror, ink was red, "Not the wind, go back to bed!"
That feeling like you're all alone, They're all gone, you grab your phone. Quickly scrolling through your list, Phone is bleeding down your wrist.
You bring the phone to your ear, Low sad voice, you begin to hear. Voice whispers, don't look back, You slowly glance, it's all black.
Dropped the phone, as you run, You fall over, a bloody gun. In your pocket, you hear a ring, You reach in, you feel a sting.
Poison hits you, right away, It is clear, you're the prey. You look back, they lay alone, Holding on, to their phone.
As a child, I played in the forest nearby, One evening I heard, a little girl cry, It was obvious she was lost, In the middle of winters frost.
I ran out in a frantic search, Bells rang in our local church, Ran faster, followed the cries, My fear for her, began to rise.
Cries turned into a continuous weep, I never felt emotions so deep. Looked up, dropped to my knees, A dying crow, I saw in the trees.
Night arrived as you fell into a deep dream, Outside your window, you heard a loud scream. Was it a scream or was it a crash? Looked on your arm, noticed a gash.
Seemed forever, as silence came, Full moon covered in a flame. Never experienced such a dream, Seconds later another scream.
Shivering cold, you dared to look, Hitting your window, long brown hook. You gasped for air, as you woke, Broken branch from your oak.
Woke one night, with a pain, Hair was soaked, pillow stain. There was nothing I could hear, A human shadow did appear.
Slowly crept out of bed, Stunned I stood, as I bled. Could not hear the dripping sound, As my blood, soaked the ground.
Could not move, I was engrossed, As I stared at the ghost. He was missing his right ear, The ghost was me, it was clear.
This poems are all by AnitaPoems.com