We are so lazy!

My Goodness are we ever lazy! Two poems in a row. I was so far behind in writing my story for this theme that I plum ran out of time! I, it seems, am a very busy man. But if it means anything, I have a fair chunk of a fresh notebook dedicated entirely to half finished stories and ideas! Anyway, this poem is based on a story I heard from someone, and I think it was my father. It was about this town in England, like way back when, that woke up one morning and found these hoof prints burnt into their cobble stone streets. Not just their streets, but up lamp posts and their houses and roofs. Walking in a straight line until it reached a field and stopped, didn't continue at all. Who knows what could have done this, but I got to thinking about this story recently and wanted to try my own crack at it. I focused more on the occult and danced around the spy part of our theme. I don't think the story is all that thrilling, but whatever.

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Theme: Occult/Thriller/Spy

Name: In Stone

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Through the fog I did feel a creeping chill

As cats of eight did sit and stare.

I ventured onward safety fleeting still

And of the consequences I did not care.

Those who seek to hurt and cause harm

Are at their deeds this night.

Hurry before I fall for a phantom’s charm

To put their evil deeds right.

Upon my spine I did feel a creeping tingle

As ghostly fingers did make their way.

Upwards and downwards every single

Part of my dear vertebrae.

Upon the field of which I now do tread

I saw a most peculiar sight.

A young child swinging up overhead

On this fog filled moonless night.

This work I do is but by an employer

For if not, I would find other work.

They hire me, a paranormal voyeur

To find where the dark things lurk.

A child was swinging upon the swing

No features for me to see.

For innocent blood it seemed to be calling

Before walking away from me.

The swing still swang on its direction

No rider on which it bore.

The rider moving towards its selection

Of which I was to see no more.

Its walking straight was not imposed

Nothing to mar its way.

Hoof prints on stone the thing embossed

Nothing moving it astray.

A raven did caw its mourning somewhere far

As the creature did continue to trod.

May it find no home in which it can scar

Was my prayer to Holy God.

The town slept as I kept my watching

Jotting down letters in my notes.

I watch the small child as it kept on its walking

With hoof prints that looked like a goats.

It walked over houses, clear over poles

Nothing did stop where it walked.

Leaving the sleepers and leaving their souls

As I ran after and merely gawked.

To a field, did the child finally stop moving

Standing amongst the sheep herds.

I swear to you now I heard the thing crooning

In a voice to which there is no words.

In a moment, the child did get swept away

In a fire to which there was no light.

I can’t fully explain what I saw to this day

And none would believe the tales of my sight.

So I wrote to my employer my final notes

About the events in that town.

About the child whose prints were like goats.

And walked over all who slept sound.

Only one thing that tells my story real.

Hoof prints burnt in stones.

All across the town like a burning seal.

Walking over top their homes.