No Rest For
While we await sleep, so weak, weary.
Drizzle drips down, December dank dreary.
Pitter-pat tiptoe drops, descending despair.
Then a howl harasses, rips through the air.
Eyes wide open, howl hollering “Hear ye!”
My heartbeat hurtles at sad sound so eerie.
Lighting lantern then grabbing cane,
gruesome groan grows “Hear!” again.
Through my manor walk wide halls,
following foolish frightful frantic calls.
Hands touch trembling turn each key,
hear howl again, does it howl for me?
Fatigued feet down dark steps descend.
Close, cacophonous- when will wail end?
Shaking still, open black basement door.
See her then, when she howls some more.
Blood pooling, drooling, drip drop from her head.
I greet: “Oh my! Thought you already dead!”
Up above, twelve strikes the clock, mark hour.
My twelve strikes strip last life, leech power.
Some time later, with wet cloth clean cane.
Wash wipe away the last of blood and brain.
Rain has ceased, cannot hear any scream.
Will we rest, perchance pleasant dream?
Slumber comes calling, feeling blessed.
Who says that the wicked will not rest?
Written for href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/eerie/”>Eerie