The Dark Chambers

I hesitantly creek open the wooden doors

Of the old house on Windey Avenue

Thus Where the witches come out at midnight

Where the wolves howl and bowl at the blinding moon

As rain falls like the clouds once filled with utter emotion

With only the color gray as their hopefulness

In the dark chambers, I step foot through the creaky doors when 

I once touch the cracked wooden floors with my stale, weak legs,

As I looked around with bollering eyes,

While I dare not to holler

For the creatures of the night

Will come out with a fright

I sit on the soft bed

One soft as a feather

As I feared the worst to come

Booms of thunder repeated outside

Booms which were warnings of which dusk

Will have soon arose

Where thee must beware

Of the pureness of dusk

I fall upon the cotton-filled covers on the rough mattress

One rough as an alligator’s scales

Thus what would be the point in having fallen, if I had already fallen long before then?

As Behalf of my undesired fate;

I blindly stare at the unlightened chandelier

As I was ready for my instant demise

Thus I was prepared to holler of anything

Which enters through the dark chambers

Of death 

And hopelessness