Poetry With A Mission



...a thought provoking poetical exercise.

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A Tale

My heart was thumping loudly, beads of sweat dotted my brow,
But I knew I had to do it, and the right time was now.
I stood and surveyed the house ’till the evening shadows fell,
Then made my way towards it, dread and fear trying to quell.

Eyes scanning, ears on alert, I approached an old rear door.
I inserted a key, turned the door knob some, then some more.
Heart racing, breathing laboured, I entered a corridor,
Which I slowly tiptoed down, lest creaks be heard from the floor.

The house was deathly silent, only shadows filled each room —
Or at least it seemed that way — for such, I could not presume.
I crept up the staircase, uneasy, on edge, my nerves taut,
And as I reached the landing, something moved that my eyes caught.

I stood frozen to the spot, nerves screaming, my hair on end,
So wanting to turn and run — yes, the stairs quickly descend.
"My mind’s playing tricks," I thought, for I’d been told, “No one’s there,”
Thus, I had to get a grip, get on with it, face my fear.

I began to move, slowly, inch by inch, legs like jelly,
Trying to convince myself I was just being silly.
It was probably nothing, just my imagination,
A rustling tree ’gainst moonlight, my lack of concentration.

Yes, just two more rooms to search, and then I’d be on my way.
One of them held the answer, a desk, a drawer, a dossier.
But that movement still bothered as I drew near the first room,
And with nerves at breaking point, leaned forward, and scanned the gloom.

Emptiness returned my stare — “It’s the other room,” I thought,
So, towards that room I turned, as feelings of fear I fought.
Once again, I slowly inched my way, barely daring to blink,
When suddenly, out of nowhere…..Oh, no! I’ve run out of ink!

By Lance Landall


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