A Poem

[Vincent Vega]

The wind is howling,

on a dark night so cold

chillingly the wind's harsh tone is echoing

and it's cries can touch the very pit of a man's soul

The silent shadows of the darkness reach out to choke and grab

but lo and behold a quick turn and fearing the worst!.....

but there was nothing there

So I laid back down, upon my bed

so soft and silky

Gazing through my window sill at the stars

so shining bright and milky

When came the wind howling once again

ere before the first screech of air

did ever there rise such many a hair

upon mine mortal head

and the quick, dankon and dreary shadows

played their sickening shapes, to my fragile mortal dread

And upon many a cold, dark and windy night such as this

arise many a damned, foul and wicked creature from the deepest hells of the abyss

to slaughter, pillage and scare

to rip, burn, rape and tear

but oh, only in a mortal man's worst nightmares

do the sick shadows and worst dreams come to be

and oh, only in the deepest threads of sleep

do knives shearing their way up your spine

and through your soul, ever do they slowly creep

Lo, and see in the shadows of the night

playing upon your wall, the lost souls of the wicked, evil, rotting damned.