I'm not a poet, but I am a writer. Can't be that bad off. Let's see here...
The Night I met 'Him.' (Part 1/2)
I came back from work, weak from exhaustion
One would have said that I worked in the sun
I work in the shade
Making my stories
Away from the people and reality
One day I wrote a story that was better than most
It was bound to be the greatest one yet
I wrote it by day
I wrote it by night
and at last, I finished my poetry.
But then on the night that I finished it
I had heard the strangest of winds
Sometimes it howled
Sometimes it screamed
Then once it heard it rush by me.
After that I had thought that I heard the last of it
until I was then proven so wrong.
The door was ripped open
There were clawings on walls
And then I had heard something scary.
I went to the kitchen with my handgun at hand
then I heard the shattering of plates.
They dropped to the floor
and pieces were about
and worse, the front door had gone missing.
I rushed to the front to search for the thief
who broke everything and ran.
The night had gone colder
And the street was then darker
Until then I saw something of mystery.
A darkened figure had hid in the bushes
It looked like a human like me.
But it hadn't any clothes
and it looked very primal...
Just what was this figure before me?
Not bad. Part 2 of 2 will be coming out after Open House.