A year's worth of poems, every week for 52 weeks, spanning 2023 and 2024, plus the year following, from August 2024 to August 2025.(provided I live that long, of course).
Thank you, Allan Charles 🐾 Busy Busy. I've contested the Charlie Chaplin thing a couple of times, won once, if I remember correctly. But it's the kind of thing I try when bored and have nothing better to do - just doesn't seem to have happened lately.
From the black emptiness of the darkened window
comes the sound that freezes the soul,
a shriek of such anguish and sorrow
that the listener, no longer safe and ensconced,
curls up in the bed with dread and fear,
while nightmares toy with the thoughts
riding upon the echoes of that tortured cry
and questions arise from the deep.
Is it the wail of a lost child, hungry and far from home?
The scream of a wandering banshee wrenched from a heart of stone?
The shade of a long dead traveller set upon by brigands?
A last hopeless call for aid from some soul entrapped in the night?
No, that sound that haunts your dreams ever after
is but the hunting call of the fox.
Line count: 14
Free verse
For Promptly Poetry Challenge, Week 33 2025
Prompt: Use this title for this weeks poem: Mysteries of the Night.
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