The Visitor

Once upon a night so bleak—-
Still and frozen lay the creek——
air with threat of death bore—-
pushed, swore and swore,
pounded the frail, wood door.

Shutters noised—-bolting and banging—-
metal hinges adding more tumultuous tang
as they, in vile unison, vibrantly rang.

Suddenly, through frosted pane,
I spied, lurking down the lane,
straying off to the blanketed plain,
a spirit like figure.

It crept upon the sod’s snowy cover—-
amidst rocks and shadows
stopped—-darkly hovered—-

(Of superstition—-I had no fright—-
still—an air of death grew bolder,
as darkness abscessed the night—-)

Again from hiding it sprung—-
in sweeping arcs massive arms swung—-
for my cabin door, plowing a path,
with haste I shuddered, awed by this wraith—-

Silence ensued more vociferous than shout—-
I sat at my table (candlelight flicker),
thoughts wildly racing—-quicker—-a manic flicker…
(Of superstition—-I had no fright—-
still—-an air of death grew bolder,
as darkness abscessed the night—-)

Suddenly there came a knock—-
my door hardly sounded—-
from my chair I rose, more bounded.

“Who is it?” I demanded;
leaning heavily into the door;
“Hurry—-state your stand—-
What monster has this God forsaken night sired?
What slinks across the frozen land?—-
keeping common scavengers a-fear in their lairs;
the stench of death recalling despairs—-
what dreadful agonies have you come to bare?”—-
To which there was no reply—-
nor further from I.

Followed another brief silence—-seething with violence.

This silence continued but a fleeting moment more,
ended by fury, the Devil alone could spore;
for on my door it commenced to pound,
pounded and pounded, noise—-how it sounded
and bounded, from wall to wall
from all to all—-

“Let me in!” it shouted—-with fury—-with rage;
I would not be here
if not for your page—-
Let me in!" fiercely it urged—-
Door shackles weakening with each new surge.

Finally—there came a mighty thrust—-
Bolt lock springing and flinging as it bust—-
Left in the doorway, amidst whirling dust
stood a figure
clad in black shroud—-
puffing—-snorting—-brutishly bowed.

Of no man had I this depth of fear nor sense of jeer;
still, as I knew my own name, the ferocity of men
compared to this seemed tame—-
knowing well
this to be not man but ghoul,
restricted naught, by any flesh-rule.

It followed my every move—-
as a predator would stalk or taunt its prey;
nowhere to flee, no safely away—-
thus, sensed I my life to be at bay….

But before I could stir
nor slur my disdain,
this grotesque courier of bane
had lifted its shroud
then mockingly bowed—-

To my surprise—-
though bereft of human form;
conceived in some ghastly norm,
its face—-absent of all but the slightest human trace—-
yet that face!—-that face!—-clearly shown—-
resembled my own.

The Visitor


Joined February 2008

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