There's a poem inside everybody. It doesn't have to rhyme. Often, it's simply a matter of a short story being compressed further even than what defines 'short', placing each sentence - maybe even word - on it's own, lonely, storytelling line. This will include mostly my own poems, but you want me to include one of your poems feel free to let me know.

Enjoy.

~Keighly W.

Ink black skies painted by dusk

Lit by the sparkling sequins

Only step out into it if you must

For it is something you will only seek once

Splashes of paint cover the page

Paper getting drenched in a fit of pure rage

Crafting a future of silence and dread

Life sewn together by needle and thread

Can you tell what I'm talking about

The time that fills us with nerves and doubt

It's night time and it's always the same

Where the horrors come out to play their game

I may make a story based on this.

Creep to the edge of the room

Creak open the door

Just be careful where you step

Mind the things on the floor

Tiptoe along the hallway--

CREAK! What have I done?

I'm in trouble now.

That's not good.

I'm such a fool.

The next evening I will try again

But I won't make the same mistake.

I'm searching for the sweet goods

My mother did bake.

I know where the creaky floorboard is now,

Treading over the plank of wood

Must be quiet as I go down

Like a good child always should.

Hunting in the kitchen

In the 1-in-the-morning dark

Amongst the old patches of lichen,

Listening out, I can't even hear a single lark.

Where's the jar?

It can't be far.

Oh yes, now I know where the cookies are!

I grab the jar with a gleam in my eye

Licking my lips as I go

Run out the door and into the night

Away, with the cookies I go!