Ode to Walter

The second story from my original 'Walter'

In the haunted hour of a lonely night
he moans for all to shiver in fright.
Vanquished to a life of what he preceived
He was all alone on this dark winters eve.

Though he could feel nothing, but sad and alone 
all he wanted was to run off back home
To his mother and father and sister alike
But, He'd been tourmented, with the thought of the sight.

he moaned and he shereiked, so the whole world could hear
He looked to see the scared, but nobody was there.
In a strange way, he was happy in his miserable life
Because he had no one to aregue and fight.
He settled himself with a cheeky smile "I'll just hang out here, alone for a while"

All of those children, who had made him mad settled in his mind like a bag of dead cats
Nobody could hurt him. With words or a knife.He thought to himself "This is rather quite nice"
he could keep to himself and not do what he's told.
That made him feel like he was twenty years old!

This afterlife thing really isnt that bad, though at certain times it does get rather sad.
But he kept himself busy with a poetry book. It was titled "The Madness" By Vincent P. Cooke
He read it over and over again.
For he was alone, But the book was his friend.

As you can imagine this is ode to a friend. Who's very short life had to come to an end
The unfortunate tale of a ten year old boy. Who sounded alot like Vincent Malloy
Who's visions were dark and courupted with evil.
But, sadly for Walter there is no sequal.

So this is the tale
If you started to wonder, where Waltr was, or the condition he's under
He is doing just fine, in a world of his own
Wondering earth, calling all of it home.