Horrific Hill

Horrific Hill

A Story by emipoemi

Horrific Hill lived at the mill

Up in the dusky moor,

Where winds grow still, the land is ill,

And living rather poor.


Days brightly gleamed, and nothing seemed

To be in want to kill.

And yet the fear spread far and near,

Reminding all of Hill.


Not one went by that dreaded guy

For fear of being meat.

Moans signified he roamed outside

Through ev’ry moonlit street.


From what they told his skin was mold,

His heart as cold as ice.

They said his smell would make one swell,

And his hair was full of lice.

Their frightful tale made many quail,

But I, though frightened, too,

Much longed to tour the eerie moor

To see if it was true.


And so I went with my friend Trent,

Who lacked in bravery.

From ghouls to bees, all made him freeze,

But still he came with me.


An hour passed, we withered fast,

Against the wind and cold.

Our feet were sore and could go no more,

But still we strived to hold.


And being weak, we could not speak,

It seemed our lives would stop.

Then strength came back, we felt it track

Its way towards the top.


Soon just ahead was the land of dread,

Where mud lay all around.

And, as we peeked, poor Trent was freaked,

For there was not a sound.


The mud went squish and smelled like fish

Beneath our hurting feet

As if to say: Don’t come this way!

You’re crazy, kids! Retreat!


At last the mill of Mr. Hill!

I knocked and nothing more.

Our rising fear became severe

As Hill unlatched the door.


It all was lies! To our surprise

The tale was far from true!

For Hill was kind and much inclined

To have things start anew.


He let us in with one kind grin,

And sat us by the fire.

We looked around, and shortly found

Hill’s plight indeed was dire.


And then the sound of a happy hound

Resounded in my ear.

And with the hound came a buzzing sound

That made Trent jump with fear.


The small bee rose and took its pose

Upon its master’s knee,

And made it clear we shouldn’t fear-

It was a gentle bee.


We instantly began to see

A tear stream down Hill’s face.

With stops to wail, he told the tale

About this tragic place.


The dreaded moor was not so poor,

It once had been a plain-

A pleasant place of endless grace

Devoid of woe and pain.


Both day and night brought great delight,

But then a mishap made

Him all alone to watch his own

Enchanting land degrade.


At night he’d weave through graves, and grieve

For both his wife and son.

No wonder groans and ghostly moans

Were heard by ev’ryone.


He bowed his head to hide how red

His eyes had grown from crying.

And we could see that hound and bee

And Hill were slowly dying.


Our enterprise brought such surprise,

That all those scared of Hill

Soon whiled away each passing day

With prayers to cleanse their ill.


And one spring day Hill passed away,

With nothing left of him.

The bee and hound were never found,

Which made the moor more grim.


© 2017 emipoemi

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(applauds) Brilliant work!!! :D

Posted 1 Year Ago


1 Year Ago

Thanks. This fyi for those who are interested in the facts behind the poem - this ballad is the seco.. read more
Raven Moonchild

1 Year Ago

This is amazing, man. :D The second poem I ever wrote was crap. lol

1 Year Ago

.....well, this wasn't the final stage after finishing it the first time.....it went through a coupl.. read more

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Added on June 15, 2017
Last Updated on June 20, 2017
Tags: poetry, poem, ballad, story, adventure, mystery.



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