Foxes – a poem

I was awoken by the foxes in the night,
They snarled and growled and threaten to bite.
They stared up at my bedroom window,
I stared back at the orange-furred foe.

The foxes wanted my soul, my innermost,
To swallow, whole, my milk-pale ghost.
They’d snatch at it like a falling leaf,
And grab it between their yellow-sharp teeth.

They screeched and yelped and barked and cried,
“We won’t hurt you, we promise.” They blatantly lied.
The street lights flickered and went dead,
All I could see were their eyes shining instead.

I knew I was safe in my warm, bright, bedroom,
These foxes won’t be able to spell my doom.
No need to beg, grovel, or humbly plea,
Unless, of course, they’ve stolen my key.

These unnatural foxes, though, have mystic powers,
They rushed through my garden, crushing my flowers.
They flew up the red brick wall of my house,
I crept under the bed, trembling like a mouse.

The foxes broke in, their triumphant barks loud,
I hid as best I could, kept still as a cloud.
They dragged me out from under my bed,
Their jaws glistened with drool, soon to be fed.

The foxes tore my soul, screaming, from me,
No longer alive, no need to flee.
They feasted on my meat and drank my blood,
Surrounding my corpse, in the red gory flood.

As soon as they came, they left and departed,
The real feast, upon my soul, was to be started.
The foxes stretched my soul as far as it would go,
Until it broke, my soul in tatters, no more, no.

Beware the foxes, beware their cruelty,
They had me and ate me, too late for me.
The foxes want your soul, your everything,
Beware the foxes and the terror they bring.


About greebohobbes

All-round irritant, expert swordsman (loves lopping off the heads of ghouls), professional charlatan and outrageous wearer of black cocktail dresses...
This entry was posted in BekHobbes, poem, poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

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