Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

The Ripper   Leave a comment

by Elizabeth Huff

 

Look at the pretty girls all in a row;

selling their bodies, selling their souls.

He’ll pick one at random and they’ll retire.

She won’t be seen alive any longer.

 

No one can hear her cries or her tears.

No one will save her from her greatest fear.

She lies in the bedroom all covered in blood,

all that remains of this latest night’s work.

 

Stalking the shadows, avoiding the moonlight.

Wandering down the dark alleys at midnight.

No one can hear the pleas in the dark.

The cold wind blows the fear and the fog.

 

The dawn brings to light all the sins of the past.

Hell will call back its dark minion at last.

Though no grave be found for this haunting specter,

legend will remember him as Jack the Ripper.

Posted April 20, 2012 by Elizabeth Huff in General Writing, Poetry

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The Strangers   Leave a comment

by Elizabeth Huff

 

They came when we were about to close;

six kids alone upon the road.

They stopped us as we thought to leave,

and filled our ears with plaintive pleas.

We let them in out of the night,

only to begin our time of fright.

 

We were a solitary store;

Three workers there and not one more.

At night when it was dark and dreary,

the workers there were bored and weary.

It seemed a simple enough task,

to give the strangers what the asked.

 

We had forgotten a lesson learned,

or thought it only joke to scorn:

that when six strangers come a-knocking,

to beware an evil lurking,

else the shadows on edge of night

would penetrate our place of light.

 

Six kids they were and nothing more.

We let them in through our front door.

Invited death into our light,

the sun not even close to rise.

In they came without a falter,

servants of something that was far darker.

 

The parking lot shadows seemed to move,

as the bright and cold moon loomed.

Out the windows the strangers stared,

seemingly without a care,

and then they turned and looked at us.

Did they think then to betray our trust?

 

And as those haunting specters gathered,

beyond the night, in darkest shadow,

six strangers thought to overthrow

a place of light and bring us woe.

We had ourselves against the wall,

when the strangers let out an eerie call.

 

A chill breeze seemed to blow from nowhere,

and vanish quickly as it had appeared.

Through the window shadows poured,

while six strangers opened the doors.

Up against the wall we were,

when I suddenly saw the storage door.

 

Quickly through the door we went

and slammed it, energy almost spent.

We used the last to push against the door

a case we had not used before,

and just in time it was in place,

when scratching noise filled our space.

 

It was the creatures on the other side,

the ones we had thought to leave behind.

An awful pounding next then came,

and tremors shook the wood door frame.

A mighty crack as splinters scattered.

The darkness came, and back we traveled.

 

Against the wall, but we were done.

No escape or chance to run.

The creatures came into the room,

and as they came we felt our doom.

Closer and Closer the darkness came,

until at last it coiled and sprang.

 

As the darkness came I woke to find

that it had all been in my mind.

We were but workers about to close,

and I could not wait to get home.

We were there, about to close,

when we saw six kids upon the road.

Posted April 8, 2012 by Elizabeth Huff in Poetry

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She Walked the Beach at Midnight   Leave a comment

by Elizabeth Huff

 

She walked the beach at midnight,

searching for her love.

She found him in a darkened cove;

the moon was bright above.

 

He was sitting by the seaside,

lost in shadowed thought.

His eyes were on the water,

of which shipwrecks are wrought.

 

She came and sat beside him,

and took him by the hand.

She told him that she loved him;

that she would understand.

 

He walked the beach at midnight,

weight lifted from his heart.

He walked the mile back to town;

new life about to start.

 

She watched him walk away that night,

and she faded with the dawn.

A lonely soul made bittersweet,

now able to move on.

Posted April 8, 2012 by Elizabeth Huff in Poetry

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