The Silent Cry Poetry Collection

The Motions of Unfortunate Creatures

There's a hobgoblin in my bedroom,

That comes out in the light of the moon.

When the shadows touch the earth,

It reveals its tormented worth.

There's a hobgoblin in my bedroom,

Resting in its wardrobe tomb.

I lie and wait for the creak of the door,

That signals its emergence across the floor.

There's a hobgoblin in my bedroom,

And on the bed it doth loom.

Those big black eyes cannot hide,

The glee it feels on the inside.

Its wretched claws scar the walls,

And it lets out a ghastly call.

Proud of its artwork carved in the paint,

Evidence that it is no saint.

There's a hobgoblin in my bedroom,

Its fangs aglow against the gloom.

As it curls up in the corner and sighs,

Just as the water runs from its eyes.

There's a hobgoblin in my room with me,

And together we make a silent plea,

Even though we're alone we'll both stay strong,

Because in this room is where we belong.

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