The knocking
The silence was shattered - a knock at my door,
A sound most profane I had not heard before.
It echoed and deepened, it pounded the floor,
And my soul cried for silence - the blessed old lore.
The clock whispered softly - a quarter past four,
It's ticking, a heartbeat, that haunted me more.
Each knock was a whisper, each sound was a sore,
Each echo a shadow that crept to my core.
"Begone!" I bellow, "disturb me no more! My patience grows thin - my spirit is sore, I carry the steel that speaks with a roar, so silence thy madness - and darken my door!"
The rapping then ceased, and calm filled the air,
I tread through the hall with a ghost - ridden stare.
My heart, though it stilled, felt heavy with care - for no one was waiting, and no one was there.
Yet faint in the hush of the midnight's dark shore,
Came softly - so softly - the knocking once more
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
