Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

My Window

A tapping at my window, never stopping, always rapping.
An eerie rap, tap, tapping on my shuttered window.
The knock has no end, it ceases to pend, it’ll never end.
Its sound, is all around, yet it’s coming from my window.
“Leave me be stranger, I’m in no mood for your childish game.”
I demanded without shame, twas not a game to play at one’s window.

I heard it screech and so it did, its speech such a foreign speech.
My legs tremble, like a cymbal as I walk to my window.
“When I open up these shutters, make no flutter, sputter and or cry.”
I warn, pondering and wondering what is beyond my shuttered window.
“Tis my imagination,” I grumble, “tis just a false mental creation”
The rapping, tapping silences, when I touch the shutter to my window.

Could this be what I’ve been dreading, the insanity treading, always fretting?
Surely not, twas a paradox thought to say what is at my window.
I open the shutters leaving them swinging, my ears ringing, muscles cringing.
Yet there is only darkness, the black caress that is outside my window.
Looking out into the clod dark night, nothing in sight, nor nothing of fright.
A frown upon my face, twas not a trace of what tapped at my window.



Join the Discussion


This article has 1 comment. Post your own!

Soliloquist said...
Feb. 20, 2013 at 11:19 am:
This makes my mind happy and feel as though I have been thrown into the world of the poem.
 
Reply to this comment Post a new comment
 
Site Feedback