The Creature

Pitch black fear,

dark ominous death hangs over the heart,

a creature lurks patiently waiting for its prey,

low, drawn-out breaths tremble in the air,

like notes from the great mourning trumpet of Heaven,

 

Hair, drawn in short rapid strokes about its body,

highlighted by the silver hue of broken moon beams,

through the window, between the rafters and furniture of the room,

Bones stitched and sharpened into greedy meat hooks,

and tall, long, gleaming tapered-to-a-point cave spires,

cast light that adds to the dread,

A crackling whip flies through the air like witches on their brooms,

and huge painted ears that hear all,

 

It-- is a black thing,

an evil thing,

the devil incarnate!

 

A sound of crunching pebbles calls it back to the light,

with first a glint of its deep green eyes,

a loud screeching chirp,

and a brush at my leg,

My fat black cat awaits its food-- again

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