| General Poetry
posted September 17, 2018 |
Echo through the halls
"Do come in" the old man said, in a manner most neighborly.
He'd just moved in a week before, into the house across from me.
He said, "This house must fascinate you, with it being so old."
"Several poor souls were murdered here, at least that's what I'm told."
"That's why I'm here, I smell the fear."
"The past leaks through the walls."
"Sometimes I hear the spirits walk, with their shuffling footfalls."
"Last night a woman's spirit weeped, and next to her I cried."
"She told me who had caused her death, how painfully she died."
"And others too came forward, so now I know the truth."
"I'm psychic you see, have always been, a paranormal sleuth."
His burning gaze went through me, there was little room for doubt.
That this old man, he knew me, and what I was about.
You could call me a killer, and in fact that's what I do.
I always do it very well and never leave a clue.
The bodies were never discovered, neatly stuffed in the crawl space.
No fingerprint was left behind, I never leave a trace.
Yet somehow this old man can tell, the havoc I wreaked here.
The screaming in the rafters, the faces filled with fear.
"Can I get you tea?" he cheerfully asked, breaking my reverie.
"I'd like that very much," I said, as I watched him pour the tea.
He wouldn't be too hard to kill, at least no match for me.
There's no real need for worry, I thought, I have plenty of time.
After all, I've mastered the art of the perfect crime.
The police are lazy and stupid, his stories won't be believed.
The'll just think that he's crazy, if he accuses me.
The thought of that soon calmed me and made me feel relieved.
The old man set the teacup down, and suddenly grabbed my wrist.
He gnarled fingers dug in tight, as he gave it a sharp twist.
All at once my body, was aflame with white hot pain.
Like a hundred knives cut into me, I felt my life's blood drain.
It started slowly, then it poured, from my mouth, my ears, my eyes.
I begged him, "please just let me go." He ignored my plaintive cries.
Around him rose up spirits, women discarded like rag dolls.
I felt great pleasure as they died, their names I can't recall.
"So it goes." the old man said. "Though your victims had it rougher."
"I'll give you just a little taste, of how you made them suffer."
What power did this man possess to kill so easily?
My admiration for him grew, he WAS a match for me.
Perhaps a deal struck with the devil?
A bargain made long ago.
To ensure the old man would prevail, at the cost of his mortal soul?
I felt my body weaken, as I crawled toward the door.
Couldn't let the old man take me down, I've had close calls before.
But darkness overtook me, with death not far behind.
I wondered what awaited me, no doubt, Hell is what I'd find.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The old man washed the teacups, cleaned the blood off of the floor.
Sat next to the weeping spirit, that in death he still adored.
He said, "It's over now my daughter, It's time for you to rest."
He felt as if a heavy weight, was lifted off his chest.
The night she disappeared, seeing her spirit told the tale.
The old man searched for many years, until this day, to no avail.
It was by chance and luck that led him to this house he'd bought.
And to the killer on his doorstep, this monster that he'd sought.
He stuffed his body in the crawlspace, the spirits now at rest.
The old man lived there peacefully, having given it his best.
Sometimes though a shadowy figure, crosses the kitchen floor.
And disappears into the crawlspace, serial killing no more.
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Rhyming Poem contest entry
Green- The old man
Black- Narrator, Neighbor.
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