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Victims(scary poem)
by Toni Sweeney (Age: 19)
copyright 01-07-2004
Age Rating: 10 to 127
Please help. I have asked many people how Victims is spelled I have many diffrent ways it is spelled. Will you please tell me how u think it is spelled.
A voice I have heard
from whom I do not know
telling me to beware
for you are in for a scare
I look around
and I see
a bright shiny knife
looking at me
in the darkness of the night
it floats
looking for victims to scare
an axe also is what I see
floating above me
looking for the one who is in for a scare
They look around
and who do they see,
they see me looking toward them
they knew I was in for a scare
so they come charging after me
I run
to the door
The door I close
into the door
the knife and the axe go
and to this day
they still remain
Many don’t believe
they say I am Psycho
but what should I say
is what they don’t know
the axe and the knife
is after them
to give them a scare
as they did me
Wonder abates, horror arose, Terror such as no one knows. Life is fleeting, time goes fast, hold tight to life else it shall pass. Death is born apon times wing ,a shadowed, clouded, evil thing. And when you think alas im gone, be horrified that i live on…
Here are presented the lyrics of a poem on Halloween titled ‘The Monster Who Was Misunderstood’ written by James.
The Monster Who Was Misunderstood
This is a tale of poor old Frank -
- Frank the monster, not Tom, Rich, or Hank.
He was created by a scientist in a great house.
A house on a mountain, much too big for a mouse.
There in the basement, the doctor toiled night and day,
With the help of his friend Igor, who had little to say.
Finally when all was assembled like a bike,
a bolt of lightning gave dear Frank his new life.
He sat up from the table where he laid for months,
Scratched his square head, and said “I’m ready for lunch!”
He crashed through the door, and went into town,
Where he arrived at the diner and tried to sit down.
But everyone screamed, and left their plates hot.
Even the cooks ran away without their prized pots.
So Frank could have nothing to quell his belly’s rumble,
Not a burger, or fries, or even Apple Pie Crumble.
He was almost in tears, and very, very sad,
And walked into the streets where everyone went mad,
And screamed in horror at Frank’s sight.
No one had seen such a thing in their life.
Frank tried to explain, “I’m just hungry, that’s all.
I mean you no harm, even though I am tall.”
A little girl saw him where she sat on the corner,
And thought, he’s not so scary, infact he might be an orphan.
So she walked up to Frank and tugged at his sleeve,
And said, “My name is Cinthia, Cindy if you please.”
He said, “I’m just a little hungry, and don’t know where I am.
” “That’s O.K.,” Cindy answered, and pulled out some ham–
Ham for a sandwich she was waiting to make,
And she pulled out two slices of bread freshly baked.
They sat on the corner to a half sandwich each,
Both happy, and smiling as a sunny day peach.
here’s a scary poem:
The Meal
by:Dennis J. Monos
In the middle of the night
The stars seem to shine
Yet the darkness still covers
The beasts as they dine..
The moon has it’s beauty
As it shines full and bright
But beware of what’s lurking
In the darkness of night…
You hear in the distance
A sound that can’t be real
The howling of a wolf
Coming to claim it’s meal…
Werewolves are just a legend
You thought as you walked faster
You had no way of knowing
You were headed for disaster…
That’s how it all started
Those twelve long years ago
Hunting down your victims
As the Full Moon starts to glow…
My poem is called “shivers”
what do you think? do u like it?
In the Pixie, kobold, elf, and sprite
All are on their rounds to-night,-
In the wan moon’s silver ray
Thrives their helter-skelter play.
Fond of cellar, barn,or stack,
True unto the almanac,
They present to credulous eyes
Strange hobgoblin mysteries.
Cabbage-stomps-straws wet with dew-
Apple-skins, and chestnuts too,
And a mirror for some lass,
Show what wonders come to pass.
Doors they move, and gates they hide,
Mischiefs that on moon-beams ride
Are their deeds, and, by their spells,
Love records its oracles.
Don’t we all, of long ago,
By the ruddy fireplace glow,
In the kitchen and the hall,
Those queer, coofllke pranks recall?
Eery shadows were they then-
But to-night they come again;
Were we once more but sixteen,
Precious would be Halloween.
I Am The Night
Bernard Thompson
I am the night. I am darkness at it’s bluest. To me there is sheer delight in the shadow of the night. No need to insist, for the night I exist. The light of day is not night’s way. I am the night.
I am a creature of the dark. I have been groomed for gloom. For eons of time, the night has been mine. I can’t remember when the night and me didn’t function as twins. Just as the ocean’s floor holds mysteries, the night alone conceals my history. I am the night
Just as poetry flows from ocean currents and from the slashing force of wind springs forth designs, Each drop of rain delivers music to our minds, poetry never ceases. From my point of view, at night it increases. I find beauty in each dancing shadow and exquisite delight in the secret of the night. The spirit things clothed in the unknown, Travel the same path that I consider home. Things that move skillfully at night do so without sight. I love these wonders for I am the night.
My five senses are more acute than most. Of this superiority, I proudly boast. My movements are as swift as lightening dashing across the sky. They can’t be held in focus by the human eye, question – Who am I?
I feed on a secret vein of life and rest in the protective cover of dusk in disguise. My skin is cold to the touch, don’t worry you won’t touch me much. My beginning is of no importance, but I see no end in sight. I believe I am forever; I am the night.
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