There are sounds all around me!
Constantly coming from the ground.
My ears –
I tell you;
They are sore to the very core!
I curse this wretched compound.

Is it the creaking of the door,
Or a grizzly old man's deafening snore?
Does it remind you of aged wood,
Or perhaps some ancient lore?
Down here in the moor,
Where colorful weeds called flowers
Are the only things left to adore.

Or Is it perhaps
Something of swampy fright?
Growing louder with each second,
Resonating proudly under foggy daylight?
Where blood runs cold even on the hottest of nights?
I don't believe that I will make it through tonight.

I wonder if they wish to change;
If they ever feel contrite?

Hop —
Splash.
I wonder what it would take?
To turn this entire place to ash.

I swear that it has been replicating.
Too quickly, too fast.
Yesterday there was just one.
Today I am certain that there are at least three.
Or perhaps there are only two?
I wouldn't dare go look and see.

Nothing here –
Is ever as it seems.

Why do they creak?
Why do they croak?
Certainly it shows.
That I would just like to see them all choke!

Raucous little creatures,
Why can't you leave me be?

(All I want to do is sleep);
Rest in undisturbed and
Silent peace.


© Katherine Bernhardt