There it is again, the clank
The call for my attention,
Awoken in horror I stare
Into the abyss of destruction.
It grows louder still, periodic
To match my throbbing heartbeat
“Stay awake!” he says,
Beating his stick on the beat.
Those men ever watching,
Loom across the lone street
Not a blink of their bloodshot eyes
As they beat their stick on the beat.
I try to stop myself
But my efforts are in vain.
I slowly draw the curtains
And lean against the window pane.
He sees me watching
His fingers loose grip
He fades from view
Perhaps he’ll make a round trip.
Yes, it grows louder once more
But it is not very far
For he beats at my door step
At this dark hour.
We can’t watch the watchmen.
Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?
Who watches the watchmen?
Queervisitor 
A never tried before genre – horror…. Good… Like it 👍😀….. As a kid, the watchman’s clanging of the stick used to scare me
LikeLiked by 1 person
Love the way the poem flows! Enjoyed it!
LikeLike
Thank you!
LikeLiked by 1 person
This is very creepy. I don’t really understand what is happening, but that’s one of the most potent elements in horror I think. It gives one a sense of powerlessness.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for your valuable insight:) This was my first attempt at horror poetry. It is inspired by the sound of the security guards patrolling around my society carrying a walking stick. The sound always used to creep me out:) So I fictionalized it to get over the fear and lucky for me it worked!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
A poem of different taste… Loved the way you wrote… Excellent writing..
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much for your comment:) I had tried to make it different but was nervous about how it would be perceived 😊 I am so glad you liked it!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Indeed, it was of different taste… something rarely available to read… well done… 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much for your kind words 😊 😊
LikeLiked by 1 person