The Rocking Chair
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This is another Halloween Poem I wrote probably ten years ago, with some modifications over the years. This poem takes a page out of people like Stephen King, Edgar Allan Poe, Mary Shelley, Dean Koontz, and Bram Stoker. It is a free-verse narrative and somewhat of an "All Hallows Eve" poetic and haunting short story.
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She was ensnared within her gardens,
Amid a tempest of roses,
Entangled in the mournful whispers of…
Weeping willows,
From noon till night.
Within her bustling haven,
the envy of neighbors,
A source of joy and delight.
But her heart yearned for more.
Her husband,
once robust and brimming with vitality,
Now withered in the desolation of solitude,
Like a leafless tree stripped bare by winter's icy grip…
His heart shattered.
Upon the porch's creaking rocker,
...his soul dwindling,
...its motion faltering...
Stops...
She grasped the vastness of her loss,
an ache colossal.
Crying out to God,
her tears flowing like a raging river:
"Restore my fere!"
A glimmering thought emerged,
a forbidden whisper:
"Conjure a deal with nature,
and it will be granted."
Suddenly, a glimmering thought emerged:
His thumb, a sharp knife,
a cursed gift,
a grower’s unholy art,
A malevolent pact with nature,
rending her life asunder.
New life stirred within the shadow's cryptic realm,
From fresh tilled dirt and ground,
A sinister transformation,
...a harbinger,
sprout of chilling qualms.
On All Hallows Eve,
stirred by the relentless creaking of the chair.
She rushed and stumbled, caught in despair's whirlwind.
Her heart pulsated rhythmically,
The moon, a spectral lantern,
Drenching the desolate landscape in silver light,
Casting ominous and writhing shadows that echoed with...
The dread of Walpurgisnacht.
A nightmare,
a beautiful grotesque masterpiece:
His form, hideous contorted,
agrarian exhorted,
A thumb oozing with red and green blood,
Nature itself warping and ravenous.
"My Groom," she whispered to the agrarian figure,
Love ensnared in a sinister compact,
never to relinquish its grip.
Fervent devotion,
embodied in the Mandrake Sprout's insidious clasp.
Slowly rocking,
...a dichotomy,
back and forth as the moon departed...
Entwined for eternity...
Bound in a loving unholy pact.
Copyright © Daniel Henry Rodgers | Year Posted 2023
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