As I was walking through the gloom
(a Delhi night without a moon)
I heard a cry, as from a loon,
but could not spy the creature.
“ ‘Tis Whom?” I said, all quivery,
my voice of scant delivery,
my constitution shivery,
(but still could see no feature)
There came a creaking and a squeaking,
as from a chest of wooden drawers.
Then ’round the corner, something peeking
and blood was oozing from its pores.
It had a black sardonic grin.
Its head towards me swiveled.
Its rotting bones were caving in.
Its eyes so dark and shriveled.
Upon its chest and down its legs
were doors and cabinets,
and things of brass and wooden pegs
and ornaments elaborate.
Its breath so foul, but it conveyed
a misery of sorrow.
Its drawers and cabinets open stayed
in want of Souls to borrow.
I stood transfixed, within this alley
and hardly dared to move.
It seemed a creature, made by Dali,
escape-ed from the Louvre.
It creaked and clacked, and came so near
we almost did embrace.
And I, so rooted in my fear,
did stare into its face.
And now I knew just what it wanted.
My essence, it would steal
to fill its drawers and cabinets haunted,
my sorry soul its meal.
Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on Spillwords.com, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.