Author's Note: I'm back, and I'm back to bring you some more of Espantalho's Bad Poetry. This poem is actually one of my favorites because I tried some new techniques in it: I chose a free verse style (don't have to have a specific rhyme scheme), and I also chose to write half of the poem in one week and half in the other. The result is pretty strange, but I dig it, somehow. I'm sure all of you smart cookies knew this already, but just to be sure: "Somnambulist" means "sleepwalker". Enjoy, and please leave me a review, for they turn me into a big balloon o' happiness :)


The Somnambulist

The clock strikes twelve, the witching hour

Wooden floorboards creak; bare feet rub the splintered oak

Unheeding of the time and the place

The somnambulist strikes a pose


The candle's lit, the long charred wick

The staircase displayed by the long firey mark

Of the wax piller in the somnambulist's hand

The subconscious demands

Movement


Outside the light the world sleeps

Raccoons and moths and all the stars keep

But inside the quiet introspective glow

The somnambulist ambles on


Down hallways truss'd with nighttime must

The somnambulist makes a prowl

Outside the window, dark mammalian forms

And the dark wings of night fowl


High above and to the left

Another lifts his weary head

Down stairs and halls he makes his way

And ushers the somnambulist to bed.


The end! Did you like it?