by Mary Intardonato

Created on: October 08, 2009   Last Updated: October 12, 2011

Something is not right, I feel it,

on this dark All Hallow's Eve.

It might be in the way the wind

is blowing through the trees.

It might be in the moonlight,

as it bathes the street below.

I don't know how I know it,

all I know is that I know.

Could it be the dark tree's outline?

Or the absence of night-song?

Is the silent cricket silent

because he knows something's wrong?

And then all at once I see it,

try to scream but there's no sound.

A gnarled, putrescent hand that's just

erupted from the ground.

I know I should start running,

as it reaches toward my shoe,

But I'm frozen to the spot with fear,

there's nothing I can do.

As it winds itself around my leg,

I realize its power,

and I know within my pounding heart,

this is my final hour.

It's like every nightmare I have had,

that ends up with me screaming.

Only this time I've no breath to scream,

and sadly, I'm not dreaming.

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