12 Aug The Kid
Posted at 06:46h in Creative Writing Tips, Poetry 0 Comments
The Kid – a poem
The kid knew how to run.
As focused as a gun.
Prompt as a bullet fired,
The kid never ever got tired.
In the city, horror knew no bar.
Each shadow had become a monster.
Each doubt mutated into a terror,
Each fear enlarged itself into a mirror.
Yet the kid alone knew the solution to all.
His courage only could save the city’s fall.
Under the lantern, by the photo frame,
The letter whose content could the horror tame.
He ran down the stairs in desperation,
Picking up the envelope in some trepidation.
Immediately the shadows behind transformed,
The breath of a hideous monster stormed.
Now he had to run like never before.
Hoping for luck and perhaps more.
His little heart was pounding fierce,
The monster’s gaze could even concrete pierce.
The kid finally realised that he was the chosen.
The only hope in the dark insane.
He had to reach the soldiers just in time,
To save the city from devastation’s rhyme.