• brian_francis 5w

    Broomsticks

    by Brian Francis

    When witches ride the whirly wind
    And monsters stalk the breeze
    Our tale of horror will begin
    With the rustling of the trees

    In a forest dark with musty smells
    And limbs, that grab and reach
    Where sunlight tries but can’t get in
    Down through the birch and beech

    Where creeks and cracks echo long
    Startling the quiet and still
    When slithering things slide along
    And you shiver with a chill

    A heartbeat stops a breath exhaled
    The horror sneaks about
    Goosebumps crawl across your skin
    Inside you scream and shout


    Copyright 2019 brian francis