Midnight Hour

*Throwback Poem: This poem was written way back in 2010, when I was about 11, and thought I was Edgar Allan Poe!! Haha!*

 

Dripping with violence,

Curdling with blood,

The midnight hour is almost done.

For terror has risen as soon as we fell,

into a slumber.

All was well.

A quarter through, bloodshed struck,

Leaving one with no good luck,

In the end none shall stand,

For the midnight hour should return again.

Cries of terror, Piercing weeps,

Kept all on their feet.

They could only wait,

To be the bait,

For the midnight hour would take,

Every soul with the cruelest fate.

The midnight hour ticked away,

Slower than one could take,

One by one they fell down,

Even past the piercing ground.

There they stood,

For years on end,

Waiting for the midnight hour to return again.

The hour of malevolence,

The time of slumber for all,

In the end all will fall,

Into it's game,

It is always the same.

Dripping with violence,

Curdling with blood.

The midnight hour has begun.

 

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