A Bone to Pick (A Curse)

Not sure if this counts as a "poem" per se...

      The Bone-man walks tonight, my children.

      To scour the world.

      He watches and waits,

      For someone whom he likes.

 

      Then he sneaks behind them,

      And punches his hand through their breathing bodies.

      From there, he takes the bone he needs.

      Not many, just one, for that’s all he wants.

 

      You see, there are repairs to be done

      On his centuries year old frame.

      The Bone-man is misshapen,

      Out of proportion, and deadly.

 

      He has no skin, just bones,

      Held together by some evil curse.

      He walks this Earth on every night,

      Doing exactly what he knows is right.

 

      He cares not if you are innocent,

      He cares not if you are guilty.

      If he chooses you,

      Don’t try to run.

 

      You see, there are repairs to be done

      On his centuries year old frame.

      The Bone-man is misshapen,

      Proportion-less and deadly.

 

      He has a bone to pick with you,

      And everyone he deems right.

      He even takes bones from animals,

      Be ready for a sleepless night.

 

      Remember, my children,

      If you see him coming,

      That you do not run,

      And you do not scream.

 

      For the Bone-man wants the bone he’s picked.

      Your bone he’ll take from you.

      The Bone-man walks tonight, my children,

      And he’s coming after you.

 

      He has a bone to pick with you,

      And everyone he deems right.

      He even takes bones from animals,

      Be ready for a sleepless night.