At My Door

November 17, 2008
By Peyton Hahn, Cincinnati, OH

There’s somebody waiting at my door
I do not know why, I don’t know what for
My blankets I sleep in were keeping me warm
And did so until I woke up that terrible morn
It was creaking, slow creaking I heard when awoken
Then found that somehow my locked door had opened
I stare into the darkness and hope I’m alone
As I feel the eyes of a stranger meeting my own
But I lie quiet and try to sleep as before
Because there’s nobody creeping at my door

Is there somebody at my door?
I wonder why, I wonder what for?
As I shutted my eyes and attempted to sleep
The door, once again, I heard creak
I hear muffled breathing and I’m wondering where
Or maybe it’s ghosts’ voices filling the air
My eyes widen and I stay still in my bed
While thoughts of disaster and demons begin filling my head
But I roll over and try to ignore
The man, I’m certain, who’s creeping at the door

Damn the blasted man at my door!
Surely a nightmare, merely folklore!
As I turn my head from the wide open door
I hear silent footsteps on the floor
Yet each one as loud as a lion’s roar
Each one closer than the one before
Shall I get up, shall I be bold?
Or stay secure in the sheets while my blood runs cold
But as suddenly the footsteps stopped on the floor
I watched in terror as somebody shutted my door

And now I run from my closed door!
Into a corner, I lie close to the floor
Towards the door, now, to escape I do go
But was stopped short by an ominous shadow
Then the great apparition sprang upon me
And pain, great pain, surged through my body
As my screams become muffled shortly after
I hear in my room a familiar laughter
Then my room becomes quiet and still as before
As the man walks out of my bloodstained door

And now there’s just an open door
As I lie lifeless on the floor
Dressed up nicely to cover the scars
Trapped in a prison without any bars
Friends and family sob in their sorrow
But will I be forgotten tomorrow?
Although I am dead, I still hear their cries
People I loved saying goodbye
But just before I was interred, there was an encore
As my killer, himself, closed my casket door

The author's comments:
In this poem I was trying to portray the feelings of paranoia when simply lying in bed late at night. I actually thought up the idea for this piece when I woke up one morning and felt as though I were being watched. The writing style itself was inspired by Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven". The end is meant to have the reader questioning who, if anyone, was the murderer.

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This article has 5 comments.

AHam said...
on Dec. 31 2008 at 8:40 pm
Great job Peyton! I like the suspense and the poem flows nicely with the well thought out rhythm/rhyme.

rachel said...
on Dec. 31 2008 at 2:54 am
WOW!! that was really good peyton, i loved it

Danielleeee said...
on Dec. 31 2008 at 2:48 am
amazing job peyton!

cincylois said...
on Nov. 23 2008 at 4:57 pm
What a great poem. Such creativity !!! Loved it.

Write more. You have my vote

on Nov. 22 2008 at 11:39 am
great job peyton

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