Blood, Red Blood...

A Poem by David Lewis Paget

The night outside was a solid mist

You couldn’t see past three feet,

Or so she thought, the Telephonist

As she came back in from the street.

There was no point following Jill and Tim

For the mist had swallowed them up,

They’d wandered out for a drink before

To head for the ‘Stirrup Cup’.

So Caryn finally went inside

And stood by the lounge room door,

There was blood, red blood on the candlestick,

There was blood, red blood on the floor,

She opened her mouth and she tried to scream

But couldn’t begin to shout,

She seemed to be locked in a crazy dream

And the folk in the house were out.

There wasn’t a body that she could see

But chills ran over her spine,

She wondered about her sister, Jill,

Then thought, ‘I’m sure she’s fine!’

But Tim, now there was a moody man

And his anger knew no bounds,

She’d hidden from him in her room before

When he’d stomped the house and grounds.

She staggered into the street again

There must be someone to call,

She felt her way through the garden gate

There was blood, red blood on the wall,

And a trail of blood lay under her feet

That led to the ‘Stirrup Cup’,

She felt the gorge rise up in her throat,

She was close to throwing up.

She felt her way through the evening mist

Stuck close to the kerb as well,

There was blood all over the bailiwick

As she called her sister’s cell,

It rang and rang ‘til it rang right out

And Caryn let out a moan,

But then a text on her tiny screen

That said one word, ‘Alone!’

She felt so faint that she stumbled then

Her head was a pounding wreck,

There was blood, red blood in her auburn hair,

There was blood on her cheek and neck,

She seemed to glide to the further wall

And caught herself looking down,

Down to the blood where her body lay

All crumpled, there on the ground.

And Jill and Tim found her lying there

As they walked by a stranded bus,

‘Oh God, it’s Caryn, my sister, Tim,

She must have been following us!’

They called the Police and they got back home

To find the blood on the wall,

There was blood, red blood on the candlestick

And blood all over the hall.

While Caryn drifts in a nightly mist

That you can’t see past three feet,

She used to be a Telephonist

But now she’s lost in the street.

Wherever she turns there’s blood, red blood

But she can’t believe it’s hers,

She seems to be locked in a crazy dream

Of a never ending curse!

David Lewis Paget

© 2014 David Lewis Paget

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Featured Review

Avinash

The story changes the dimension so smoothly that only in the last stanza you realize what it is all about. Another great thriller from you David and thanks for inviting.
Your stories with its great imagery can be turned into movies. I strongly believe that.