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Broomsticks
by Brian Francis
When witches ride the whirly wind
And monsters stalk the breeze
Our tale of horror will begin
With the rustling of the trees
In a forest dark with musty smells
And limbs, that grab and reach
Where sunlight tries but can’t get in
Down through the birch and beech
Where creeks and cracks echo long
Startling the quiet and still
When slithering things slide along
And you shiver with a chill
A heart beat stops a breath exhaled
The horror sneaks about
Goosebumps crawl across your skin
Inside you scream and shout
09/08/2017 Posted on 09/08/2017
Copyright © 2024 Brian Francis
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 09/09/17 at 08:00 PM Getting a jump on the holiday, I'd say. I like how you married creeks with cracks, and the "slithering things slide" phrase is too much fun to say aloud. Thanks! |
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