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Poem

A window to another world, perhaps to other times
A window that is open when the midnight hour chimes
Few see the midnight window sitting there in yonder wall
’tis said before and after twelve it isn’t there at all

Be it frost or balmy night, be it pitch or full moon bright
There is no bulb or candlelight to aid the passerby at night
A blackened void, a gaping gap, within its frame no curtains flap
Tethered by some unseen strap, no man shall pass this cursed trap

Yellowed paint on rotted wood, a portal to the never good
A zone alone where evil stood, where men of virtue never would
An eerie tick, a walking stick, an eerie tock, a knock, knock, knock
Twelve: each chime a haunting shock from some unseen grandfather clock

At Twelve the passerby shall peek and hear the leaden darkness speak
Climb in my friend and take a seat and watch the empty rocker creak
And woe betide he who accedes, who all at once the window feeds
The Dark Imp’s stick does Dark Imp deeds and cracks your head until it bleeds

Come hither calls the final chime, take a peek, there’s little time
The peeking man who meant no crime… I know, for that last peek was mine
I dared to look and I was took, and drawn in by an unseen hook
And made to grasp the shepherd’s crook to grab the next who takes a look

Be sure to pass a minute past, perhaps you shall not breath your last
For then no frame, no shattered glass, no window there… so walk on… fast

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