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504th Weekly Poetry Contest winner: The Watched

by Claudia Cross

In a village, small and hidden, where the night’s dark winds are chidden,
Lurks a creature, sleek and bidden, in the shadows, black as night.
With eyes of amber, fiercely gleaming, through the darkness ever scheming,
In the moonlight, lightly dreaming, of the souls that take their flight.

I, a cat of midnight’s keeping, through the bleakness, ever creeping,
Watch the village, nightly sweeping, with a gaze that none can flee.
In the alleys, silent, stalking, through the bleak, my paws are walking,
In the shadows, gently talking, to the spirits yet to be.

In the homes of those unwitting, where the sick and dying, sitting,
Whisper prayers with candles flitting, I, their silent watcher, stay.
By their bedsides, shadows casting, through the night, with breath so lasting,
In their eyes, the fear is fasting, as their souls begin to sway.

In the night, my presence lingers, with my cold and silent fingers,
Touching hearts, as death’s dark singers, whisper secrets in the gloom.
In the shadows, softly prowling, where the night wind’s voice is howling,
Through the village, death’s endowling, fills each dark and silent room.

Through the windows, moonlight streaming, on the dying, gently beaming,
In their eyes, the terror’s gleaming, as their final breaths they take.
With a purr, I sit beside them, in their fears, I do not chide them,
For in death, I am to guide them, through the murk, where shadows wake.

In the graveyard, fog is drifting, through the tombstones, shadows lifting,
On the air, the spirits sifting, through the dark, where I do roam.
In the stillness, cold and chilling, where the night’s dark breath is willing,
I, the watcher, softly thrilling, lead the souls to death’s dark home.

In the night, the village sleeping, in the shadows, ever keeping,
Watchful eyes, as death comes sweeping, through the homes, with silent tread.
In the darkness, hearts are breaking, with the fear, their souls are quaking,
For they know, the dawn is taking, all their dreams, now cold and dead.

By the hearths, where fires are dying, in the dark, I hear the sighing,
Of the souls, their last breaths crying, as they leave the mortal plane.
In my eyes, the night’s reflection, of the death, the dark affection,
For the souls, in death’s direction, through the night, to endless pain.

Thus, I prowl through night’s dark keeping, where the shadows, ever creeping,
In the village, silent, weeping, for the souls that I have seen.
In the night, my vigil holding, through the darkness, ever molding,
In the shadows, death unfolding, in the silence, cold and keen.

For I am the watcher, gleaming, in the dusk, where death is teeming,
Through the shadows, quietly dreaming, of the souls that come to me.
In the village, small and hidden, where the night’s dark winds are chidden,
I, the cat of midnight, bidden, keep my watch, eternally.

See all the entrants to 504th Weekly Poetry Contest