4 AM

 

The knocking began dead on four,

Not an hour later nor one before.

Then every night for the next week,

every hour the same sounds repeat.

Drumming into my head,

filling me with dread.

The sound of the wind

or the chill of the undead.

 

Seems like sleep is not for me,

I was counting sheep merrily,

but the sounds,

the thuds,

the late night crashes,

all too much.

The sheep just vanish.

 

Thud, thud, thud.

Such a scary sound

Is it a loose door on a shed?

Or is someone creeping around?

Is that an intruder in the living room?

A spectre in the gloom.

Is it one of the living dead?

Ready to pounce on me in my bed.

 

The noise seems much closer now,

I feel it beside my face.

Earlier it was just a dull sound,

now it's like someone

is tearing the walls down,

invading my head space.

I can't move the ghosts disapprove.

My duvet is the only protection

from the man with four hooves.

 

Thud, thud, thud

I should get up and explore,

what if that is someone

knocking at my door?

But why at this late hour?

So instead,

in my room,

I shiver and cower.

 

 

Thanks for reading

Peace, Love and Poetry

Kyle.