Poetry in Narrative.

The Corn Stalker.

The Corn Stalker.

High on a stake stuffed and turned,

eyes of coal that once a year burn.

Moon rises up full and secure,

a grin of malice seen as a lure.

Hands twitch slightly one finger then two,

slipped from the stake that held like glue.

Fallen into rows mistakenly born,

rising on shaky legs standing in corn.

On all hallows eve every year it is known,

when stalks go brown and are readily sown.

There is one that comes alive in darkness unseen,

a spirit unworldly reborn, unearthly and unclean.

A mouth stretches wide with razored teeth,

catching and devouring all that trick or treat.

Careful where you walk, the places you may go,

for a corn stalker awaits within cold, corn rows.

Listen to a rustling, a stirring you see,

nighttime is allied to one that grieves.

Enriching his own life, devouring bone and flesh,

he knows time is short, for another year of rest.

Before closings light in the darkest hours,

a demon unholy steals souls, and devours.

Welcome to imagining this evil curse,

a shaking, a trembling, feeling the worst.

Eyes black as coal yet, burning with fire,

move back to a stake, with nails, no wires.

While light breaks fast, lighting once more,

a coldness sleeps after another night of chore.

A.o.R.