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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Horror/Scary · #1046505
This is a poem that was written to unleash the devil in me. Read through to find more
ONE NIGHT STAND

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Paths untrodden, houses abandoned,
Empty footwalks, all silence no talks,
Weeping frightened breeze,
Your spine it might freeze,
The hoots of the owl,
The night that howls,
The chastened moonlight,
Slowly dying in the night...
The sight of unruffled leaves,
The astir shadows of non-existing trees...

A soft tap knocks my door,
I ask,
"Hello!! Who's there on the floor?"
"I'm lost", he answers,
"A shelter I seek-
'Tis cold outside and I'm bleak."

I bring an old candle
With a wispy dying flame,
Now for him any other night
Would never be the same again.

The door opens
And the bells chime-
With the mournful tinkles of the night
They very well rhyme...

With a gust of wind
The flames flare
And he catches in my blue eyes
A warm, blazing gaze.

He adorns his face
With a handsome grin
And then he receives one
On his way in...

He looks at the locks
That block my eyesight;
Blown off by the wind
They blend well with the night...

He sits on a chair
His eyes unmoved-
My shy eyelids open
Confessing I'm allured...

More smiles are shared,
Stealthy looks are caught,
Through the hushed silence
Closer we're brought.

He asks for water-
An unfulfilled wish;
For I lie thirsty here
Thriving on crumbs that lie in a broken dish...

The candle burns on,
Its flame yet alive;
Stale air all around-
Now reflecting the dim light.

So close we are
I can feel him breathe;
I lie here so cold
And I can feel his heat...

His hand slowly moves and touches mine,-
A cold shudder moves down his spine;
His throat is then sliced neatly
Oh!! Merciless knife, can't hear him whine!

As blood trickles down his neck
And his collar with it is drenched,
My cold tongue tastes its warmth
And my thirst for the moment is quenched...

Slowly I walk toward the door,
Waiting for another call from that floor-
Maybe years would pass before another smite
But for me an aeon is just as long as this night...

So I sit on a chair,
A captive in my own lair-
My cold youth would always gleam
Forever in the dead candle beam...


Paths Untrodden, houses abandoned
Empty footwalks, all silence no talks.....




© Copyright 2005 Shara-vacationing till Feb 20 (soniya_ahuja at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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