Pete's poems from the night.

35,044 poems read

The Collector.

The Collector.

A massing of unnatural weather
Silences the twilight chattering
Creatures feel an air of corruption
Hunter and prey alike left quivering.

Along a snaking highway, hurtling
A horse drawn hearse be plumed
Sways wildly disobeying all sense
But never letting go of the road.

Hooves pound the soft ground
Amongst themselves nags nicker
Whinnying pleasure at each whip strike
Dealt with feverish glee from the driver.

Atop the coach like a preacher possessed
Eyes wild as the storm overhead
Beneath a crooked stove pipe hat
Blazes a countenance bearing dread.

Fashioned he was by a people
For disposing of human detritus
A consequence of their fervency
In keeping a town unblemished.

Birthed into lowly orphanage
So were his parents a stain
With the ruin of a child's mind
A loyal servant was made.

Now where a man once hung
From an old gnarled tree
A noose now lazily swings
In a cool night's breeze.

Reaching out a cold grey finger
The rope's sway he ceases
Fury flashes across his mind's sky
A howl from the depths he releases.

All was as it should have been
For he had collected one other
She by a pier the sea had claimed
Upon hearing of her hanged lover.

Retreating to his sanctuary
Materialised from seclusion
A fantasy soon to swell
With his new found companion.

Rage melts from warm greetings
Within this reality he constructs
For arranged about, silent and still
Sit the corpses of the town's rejects.

They who raised him loathe him
As an evil of necessity
He serves them emulates them
In creating his own family.



Third one on from the outsider and the ghost, going through a filter at the moment.


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The Collector.