Nov 06 2006
The Knock
a knock upon my outer door
it opens out to no one there
i pace across the wooden floor
back to my studies and my chair
a scratching on the window pane
life the shade to naught but night
from here i move to bedroom rest
i lay there still with covers tight
a creaking on the wooden floor
in the dark near foot of bed
a cold and lifeless face appears
i lay there still and full of dread
and with a scowl it calls my name
i can feel my soul lifting high
and i look down upon my still
frightened face as I die
