A genius in disguise.
A madman that will arise.
A disease that bites like flies.
A sense of triumph that's going to arise.
That eye was like a demon inside.
The old man he loved must die.
That dark, disturbing, pale evil eye.
That man who never wronged him will be horrified.
He crept carefully, cautiously, through the night.
He must do this right.
He wanted to see his fright.
He opened that door gently, just right.
Tick... a ghostly sound.
Tick...a smash to the ground.
Tick...he will not be found.
Tick...that old heart will not pound.
Tick, tick...the cutting off his head.
Tick, tick...slicing, chopping, his feelings are dead.
Tick, tick...the hiding of his decapitated head.
Tick, tick...the hiding so nothing is said.
Tick, tick, tick...what's that tormenting sound.
Tick, tick, tick...it's a beating all around.
Tick, tick, tick...that beating heart underground.
Tick, tick, tick...he was found.
Comments about this poem (The Tell by Anonymous Smith )
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