Crypt

 

Crept past the creepy crypt,

in the mist, that swirls and twists.

Under the branches of weeping willow.

We sat.

Moon light, shadows,

the sound of bats.

 

Witching hour, late at night,

nothing here could give us a fright.

 We thought...

An onslaught of noise,

bats flapping wings.

Cats screeching.

Is that a wolf in the distance howling?

 

Then from beneath our feet a sound,

it tore strips from our hearts,

made our bones jump from our skin.

A slow scraping.

Long nails against wooden casket,

we grabbed our blanket,

ready to run.

A murmur of voices, angry and confused

fell over us like a ten-tonne weight,

we were unamused.

 

Then the scraping suddenly stopped

and out of the ground bony hands popped.

Trying to grab our feet.

Was this to be our destiny,

devoured by the ground,

in a cemetery with no one else around?

 

We ran.

Into the dark night

and never stopped running.

Because when we slow down for just one second

those sounds would start to beckon.

At the click of the skeletal fingers

the howling wolves start to sing

and goosebumps prickle over the skin

 

 

Thank you for reading

Peace, Love and Poetry

Kyle