Rate this poem:(0.00 / 0 votes)

Twenty-Third Floor



Twenty-third Floor

Sheltered in sleep
on the twenty-third floor
 from which
a thud fills the air outside my door.

In the darkened night
in Niagara Falls
they say the knocker walks
in the Seneca halls.

They also say
when the rain drops
the knocker comes a thudding
with a banging chop.

Buried beneath the blankets
on my bed
thoughts of many
rush through my head.

Could it be the haunting dreams
that I think so much about
or is it the breath of my dread
that causes my fright to shout.

I lay in a room
where walls surround
in fear of the knockers thud
and his provoking sound.

While a mist from my window
shows through the one-way glass
the knocker thuds once more
filling my senses with angst and crass.

I slide further under my coverings
in the blackened night
for the fright that stirs
in the halls beyond heaven's light.

I dare not answer to his beckoning
thud
as my body may be all
but bones drenched blood.

On the twenty-third floor
I do hide
with the Holy Bible
I clutch next to my side.

The thud now stops
with the coming morning sun
my fear is now over
for the night is done.

As I pack my bags
and put on my sun blocker
I shall never to return
to the sound of the knocker.


.







Font size:
 

Submitted on July 05, 2016

1:09 min read
0 Views

Norman Wilson Claim this poet

IntroductionForgotten are the times the tick of a clock once chimed sobering sounds that caressed my hearts nightly dreams. As I awaken to the touch of light that burns upon a candles wick flickering my words for all to see. This drives my thoughts through the darkest of nights of loneliness that renders my quill upon parchment with ink that dances to minds and souls.Now I hear the screeching of my heart when the blue horizon covers the orb of emptiness.Within the shelter of my mind with little, purpose other than my words that keep me sane. These are my new poems I have written in the quiet of my night, forever wished away in a writer’s pain. As I strive to write that perfect poem that, my soul desperately seeks. Then and only then can my words rest upon a sleep. more…

All Norman Wilson poems | Norman Wilson Books

FAVORITE (1 fan)

Discuss this Norman Wilson poem with the community:

0 Comments

    Translation

    Find a translation for this poem in other languages:

    Select another language:

    • - Select -
    • 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
    • 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
    • Español (Spanish)
    • Esperanto (Esperanto)
    • 日本語 (Japanese)
    • Português (Portuguese)
    • Deutsch (German)
    • العربية (Arabic)
    • Français (French)
    • Русский (Russian)
    • ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
    • 한국어 (Korean)
    • עברית (Hebrew)
    • Gaeilge (Irish)
    • Українська (Ukrainian)
    • اردو (Urdu)
    • Magyar (Hungarian)
    • मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
    • Indonesia (Indonesian)
    • Italiano (Italian)
    • தமிழ் (Tamil)
    • Türkçe (Turkish)
    • తెలుగు (Telugu)
    • ภาษาไทย (Thai)
    • Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
    • Čeština (Czech)
    • Polski (Polish)
    • Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
    • Românește (Romanian)
    • Nederlands (Dutch)
    • Ελληνικά (Greek)
    • Latinum (Latin)
    • Svenska (Swedish)
    • Dansk (Danish)
    • Suomi (Finnish)
    • فارسی (Persian)
    • ייִדיש (Yiddish)
    • հայերեն (Armenian)
    • Norsk (Norwegian)
    • English (English)

    Citation

    Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:

    Style:MLAChicagoAPA

    "Twenty-Third Floor" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 23 Oct. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/89660/twenty-third-floor>.

    Become a member!

    Join our community of poets and poetry lovers to share your work and offer feedback and encouragement to writers all over the world!

    Browse Poetry.com

    Quiz

    Are you a poetry master?

    »
    Which of the following was the last to evolve?
    • A. Epic poetry
    • B. Invective
    • C. Tragedy
    • D. Dithyramb

    Our favorite collection of

    Famous Poets

    »