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| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 27-June 01:46:56 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 91460
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => I Didn't Know
[time] => 2005-04-19 10:25:06
[hometext] => broken down shanties
[bodytext] => It was a pleasent little town Never been here before I tipped my drink to sip it down Early yet only quarter to four Music played the man in black An old time jute box of long ago I listen and watch the waxed disk drop a little black plack Red and yellow the jute box glowed The locals were polite,but subdued I'll have another joe and a chaser A wirey man walked over "I see your new" Yeah ! I came off the highway onto a road called Parker "Thats the only road in and out of town" What's your name Have you lived here long "Stine is my fame" We talked for awhile I stared at the scar on his forehead and his unseemingly grin A weird little smile "You gonna be staying long" Somewhat fuzzy I finished my drink No; I'll be move'n on As I bid him farewell he gave a quivering wink Unknown why I got a cold chill Few people outside were silently milling It seemed so quiet and errie still The sun seting night clouds rising I a bit unsteady Bumping my knee getting on my bike I started my deep black Harley Turning onto the road feeling it was going to be a chilly night The sun seemed to just drop At the end of town I noticed a quaint little park Pulling over I stopped Black roses vined with neddle sharp thorns reaching out a finger I got a prick Yeow ! it stung My blood freely flowed to the ground These wild black roses how they hung It was so errie around this town Not a sound Not quite six and it was already a darken night Couriousity drew me into the parks trail There was no moon no starlite The coolness of the air gave me a tinge of fright Imagining things I thougt I heard a curdling whail No ! I'm just spooking myself A little further in I saw these little close to the ground shanties To inspect closer I steped off the trail In front of each sat small bowls that were empty I remember seeing an old indian burying ground in upper Michigan The bowls were for feeding the spirit I have never seen it so dark Looking down I cringed when I thought I saw someones feet In the now cold breeze I tried to light my lighter,but couldn't get a spark I Got on my knees for a closer look "gulldarn" a body It's as white as a sheet Those damn black roses bloomed along side Unwanting to but, wanting to I touched the cold stone toes I let out a chilling lonesome cry The body slowly rose I ran blindly getting tangled in winding thorney vines The vines; They seemed to grow ! Cutting scratching bleeding traped I whined Please, please,please My blood gushing like pouring wine I was crying on my knees A slow mumbled utter said "welcome to our town" I remembered him from the bar; it was "Frank Lynn Stine" Please,please,please Laying bleeding in these tangled vines Let me leave Your cries are to no avail You will be one of us a "Zombie" I'm trap in this town "This town called Hell" My feet were cold I could feel my heart "It's turning to stone" NOooooooooooooo Sinned [comments] => 4 [counter] => 169 [topic] => 13 [informant] => sinned [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 0 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry )
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