I heard about the butcher who
butchered his wife.
I read about the candlemaker
who snuffed out his dog’s life.
I saw the gardener with a
pitch fork at his throat,
threatening to end it all
at the remote end of a rope.
The village is haunted by this
nightmarish tale of fraught after
scenes of bone-rattling wails.
The community is hung by their
nightly entrails of non-stop
battling over the wicked details,
of stories of horror with nothing to tell.
No end. No where. No peace, in sight.
No witness to witness
the final thoughts or breath
of your love’s plodded, frightful
horrid night.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
#rhymes #poetry #horror
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