#WritcoPoemChallenge
The sound of the stadium's roar,
Resonates with every four,
Down the pitch,
Over the arm,
Cricket has its own charm
And with the cool of the night
Comes the gentle steps
They're coming aren't they?
But who they are
Aren't Gods
Creeping and howling
The owls will hoot
For the evils of the night
Begin their dark pursuit
Drums of sorrow
And endless reproof
The blood of ten men
Shall be spilled at midnight
Croaking and lurking
And singing a sad song
Even the frogs and birds
Know that their masters will die
For the owls will not hoot
When the clock strikes 12
And the city
Shall be silent as the grave
Walking and running
We hear the loud cries
They've come
Run and hide
There's no saving us now
Dancing and shouting
We hurdle ourselves
The evils of the night
Cannot find us here
Galloping and straddling
We hear the loud neighs
Upon horses they ride
With swords and weapons
We resign our fate
For who shall be Sent forth?
And who shall be saved?
For either way
We will sing a sad song
For our brothers slain
The sound of the stadium's roar
Resonates with every four
There's no stopping us now
They shout
They've come for us all
We're doomed for the killing
Aren't we?
The cricket has it's own charm
But
The evils of the night
Have begun their dark pursuit.