a poem similiar to the raven by edgar allen poe, intresting yet difficult to read |
The Crickets Masquerade Within the confines of an evening bleed The crimson clouds creed Might rest their eyes upon oh poor humpty Whose head not yet shattered, clumsy Has yet to fade from the cover of ‘a Childs tale’ All those who read on beware... A gleeful prance which signals the trumpets A mattress squeaks rampant While feet glide up to and fro A Childs sweat so rests abrow Completing the pulse of a parent observing a triggered nerve delivers the deserving A delinquent fire soothed not by sattin Or any seduction of satin No feet now glide through folds of air But slip politely in a silken fare Upon no mantle does sit a specter Only the ghostly appearance of a dusty lectern Yet soon a stammer awakes once more He wonders what for For an anomalous twitch completely distinct Is hoping and daring and far from a blink Yes there definatly was a delectable chirp And something worth more upon some dark perch A flash and a peak above the white sheets The Childs heart bleats Wailing not, the chirp was far from a dream Weeping not, the perch was far and unseen But there it was again heard on its second round Although far from an obvious sound Lusty curiosity clothes the child Desiring with wild In which each chirp descended A second chirp was also lended The room no longer ghostly or bleak Light shining forth so daring so meek Dusty lanterns so anxiously lit Lighting each candle wick In which each curtain of velvet violet and blue So completely carpeting the coming morning due Creeping behind both sofas and chairs He searches for villains and their evil lairs Down and down all corridors are passed Checked twice each cupboard and cask The chirp chirp continues quietly Yet the Childs mission burns violently Until the final place unchecked became The sight before the Childs game A frantic study of the lips of the parents There was little deterrence For the chirp chirping continued quietly And the Childs anger erupted violently Pillows rasped across their faces And their own flesh and blood unties its own laces A miracle far from the likely The chirping retires politely The child pursuing the warmth of his bed Not bothering for the respect of the newly dead Tucked warm inside, the Childs sleeps slightly Yet the chirping soon starts quietly again |