When The Midnight Bell Tolls

The darkness rolls in
on far away thunder clouds,
that clang, and rumble,
as the midnight bell tolls,
and lightning strikes.

The moon peaks out,
through misty veils
of ghoulish fog,
as the owl calls out
to any who will listen.

The wolves howl,
calling from the shadows;
searching, and signalling,
guiding each other
and circling their prey.

The air lays heavy,
leaving droplets of dew
on warm damp skin,
filling labouring lungs
with an unseen vapour.

The bell rings out,
echoing through empty streets;
on, and on it goes,
but then, silence;
not even a cricket stirs.

In the distance, a cry;
horror flies through the night,
reaching sleeping ears;
slowly, one by one,
then quickly, they silently stir.

Invisible faces look outward
from behind drawn curtains;
searching for the source,
yet, all is eerily quiet,
til the owl calls out once more.

A siren cuts the silence;
red lights, glowing
through open crevices,
creating haunting shadows,
that tells of blood and death.

All shrink back,
withdrawing to safe chambers,
endeavouring to reclaim sleep;
pushing living nightmares away,
to await the dawning day.

A bat flutters, then zig-zags
across the ebony sky;
the moon, tainted red
by the still flashing lights,
and the presence of death.

An endless cycle of fear
for a town caught
in an endless nightmare;
where no one dares tread,
on a dark, stormy night.

For those who live here,
understand, that with the storm,
comes the reaper
to claim his dues,
when the midnight bell tolls.

© Leslie C Dobson

If you liked this poem, you can find additional ones on the poetry page of Leslie’s website.

Published by Leslie Dobson

Leslie has been writing since she was a young child, first with poetry and short stories and later with song lyrics, young adult stories and inspirational sayings. She is a multi-genre author and her blogs and books come when and where the Spirit leads.

2 thoughts on “When The Midnight Bell Tolls

  1. My midnight bells chime when sweet dreams are cut short by demons intruding inside my head. Knocking on my skull, never letting me forget events. Events of war and army days. Of dread and deeds of necessity forged with the devil’s own fire.
    Your4 poems are sometimes harsh, sometimes calming, but always relevant in some odd way to my life. I thank you deeply.

    1. I write what comes as it arrives, and yes, my work is an eclectic mix of emotions. I suppose it is because we are a complex mix of all of it, sadness, joy, peace, and faith, always faith to carry us (me) through the things we do not believe are possible to bear.

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