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Poem

They visit me here though they think me dead
They all think me a long time gone
The mausoleum is quiet, with only a dark shadow 
Creeping upon its ancient walls, and thats of my own

The heavy door seems to creek all of sudden I think
Outside I hear the sounds of what seems like footsteps
I open that very old secret door which leads to my  rest
And with a heavy heart consumed by this fire, I prepare for the kill

But then, outside, there is no one, no one is there
No one out there now to steal from me this time in here
Outside now I catch only the furtive and dark shadows 
As I hear the lonesome cry of a howling wolf or hurting bird

I dart quickly another look again to my ancestral and cold coffin
My fateful resting place is one more time again safe
No friend nor foe to release me  to free me  tonight from my woes
And from  all of my black and torturous betraying  thoughts

I, Barnabas Collins, I stand here in all this darkness alone
As I close my weary eyes for another moment and rolling time
Then again I hear the wind moaning and hear the wind weeping
The dogs are howling and my wounded heart abates in the wind
They're  my only companions in my endless and perpectual sorrow.




Dorian Petersen Potter 
aka ladydp2000 
copyright@2010 


July 22, 2010

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