A poem:
She harked a knock on the door,
Faint and feeble at first,
Grew resolute, and resounding,
The man’s pleading was terse,
“Provide a parched pauper
Some water, if you please!”
He stood crippled by cold,
Degraded by disease.
She harked a knock on the door,
Faint and feeble once more,
Could barely hear his hungry cries,
As stood submerged in snow…
His sunken eyes stared at her
Basking in blissful warmth,
A stare of doleful desire
She returned with one calm…
A plate of stew lay untouched,
Fresh and hot and fragrant,
Cans of tinned peaches stood,
Inviting his grim, gaunt gaze..
She budged not, just looked on,
With conspicuous contempt,
Gloating at his grave anguish,
Reveling in his torment…
As winter wantonly advanced,
She harked a knock on the door,
A final howl of agony,
‘Ere it ceased, forevermore.
-The Forgers of Fantasy
For more poems, refer The Forgers of Fantasy
The Forgers of Fantasy 
Aaah I love thiss!!!
I like how it’s slightly old english!!!
Can’t wait fore moreeee posts!
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❤ Thanks a lot! ❤
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Ok tho srslyyyy…it’s been a long time since u’ve postedddd…how comeee?
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I’m in 11th bro, all the academic workload has brought about a writer’s block, and its unlikely I’ll post again soon
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Aaaah! It’s fine…take your time….sure u’ll post eventually.
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🙂
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A Knock on the Door…
“A plate of stew lay untouched,
Fresh and hot and fragrant,
Cans of tinned peaches stood,
Inviting his grim, gaunt gaze..”
The tinned peaches juxtaposed to this grim gaunt gaze – you create the scene here in a visceral way.
Sadly I’m reminded of the young teenage boy recently shot twice when he mistakenly went to the wrong door to pick up his two little brothers.
I see it was written in December….in the bleak of winter….and that is so fit.
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What a grim tale, she sounds a cold as the weather…
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❤ Indeed!Thanks for reading ❤
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