Tom Bell Poet Burlesque

My Host, the Ghost...

Hair standing up
Skin rippled with fear
Breath coming hard....
Means she is now near

I've heard the moans,
Many a night,
Always at 2:20 am
I'm now prone to fright

Something yanking
at my covers,
From the foot of the bed,
Somehow I know,
That something is dead

Then the swirling mist,
Ectoplasm lips seeming
to kiss,
My heart so loud pounding,
My fear so astounding,
I'm frozen in terror,
The kind so much rarer,

I'd go for the light,
But I'm paralyzed by fright
I think I hear her, in the dim 
yellow moonlight
Though Im not so sure,
How much more I can endure

Now I know what to do,
Before I might see her anew,
From now on I will sleep
Where the dead don't creep

I'll make it my nightly aim,
To find a motel that i can well blame
Should the ghost follow me,
A law suit they will see...

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