Contact Us      
         Join today or login
You are using an outdated version. Writing will not be shown properly in many cases. Click here to use the current version.


New Here?
Sign Up
Fast! Three Questions.

Already a member?


6 Word Poetry
Deadline: In 2 Days

Cinquain Poetry
Deadline: In 4 Days

3 Line Poetry Contest
Deadline: In 5 Days

Flash Fiction
Deadline: Sep 30th

80 Word Flash Fiction
Deadline: Oct 1st


Poet: None
Author: None
Novel: None
Votes: None

 Category:  Horror and Thriller Poetry
  Posted: September 21, 2014      Views: 403

Print It
Save to Bookcase
View Reviews
Rate This
Make Reader Pick
Promote This



Dean Kuch
Georgetown, Ohio


"Blessed are the weird people:
poets, misfits, writers
mystics, painters, troubadours
for they teach u - more...

Portfolio | Become A Fan
This work has reached the exceptional level
She is coming for me...
"The Midnight Hour" by Dean Kuch

The   Midnight  Hour



The lamplight burned into the night, his face was wracked by yawns.

Try as he might to get it right, he knew, soon came the dawn.

White wolf in murky moonlight's glow now howled upon the lawn,

he heard the sigh, knew time was nigh; it's song, so woebegone.


His maiden fair, whose baleful stare, would find him, soon enough.

The spell she cast, 'twas not her last — he gazed out o'er the bluff.

Outside the crumbling mortared walls, betwixt the naked trees,

crept through thin cracks, climbed up his back, soon came the chilling breeze.


The midnight hour was close at hand, still on and on, he wrote.

Time and again the poet's pen upon white paper smote.

Each word was laced by one embraced by forces none could see.

He shut his eyes just as her cries bespoke her ghastly spree.


He felt fear's quake as rusty gates creaked open, down below;

 miserable moans — mournful groans — he'd so longed ne'er to know.

A spectral mist wrapped 'round his wrist and held his hand in check,

his pen was halted, his mind, assaulted; he held on by a speck.


Closed coffins groaned, just as they moaned, the rotting bodies moved,

Hell's minions can't express opinions, their will has been removed.

She led them straight through rusty gates, up to his room, with ease,

she surely knew, as blood lust grew, her thirst must be appeased.


When nearly there, in dire despair; he felt their presence close.

Of all Hell's spawn she would bring on, he feared her wrath the most.

Before the bright soft candlelight was snuffed out by the breeze,

he'd finished it, now words were writ, to stop her dreadful pleas.


She entered in, a vaporous spin upon the wooden floor,

hellspawn followed —hard he swallowed, as soon came many more.

Would blood suffice, his sole device, 'twas used to pen the words?

He'd worked so hard – this noble bard – he was drained afterwards...


Lenore, my dear, please go from here, although I loved you once,

take all the dead back to their bed, leave me, you abhorrence!

In God's name I thus proclaim, I be forever freed from you.

Back to your graves, you wretched knaves. I care not what you do.”


She squalled in fear, but disappeared, as quickly as she came,

minions followed, in pain, wallowed, whilst he rebuked her name.

Thus a poet, with words to show it, was born by monstrous woe,

whose poems today won't fade away — one Edgar Allan Poe.



Author Notes
The great poet, Edgar Allan Poe, was haunted by dreams of the death of his young wife, Virginia Eliza Clemm Poe, to tuberculosis. But, was he insane? Is Stephen King insane? Or any other author of horror and/or Gothic fiction? Despite the dark nature of his poems and short stories, we don't have the evidence to say whether he was mentally ill. Suffering from bipolar disorder, perhaps, but hardly insane.

What we can say from them is that he certainly knew what madness looked like. Could a person who was truly insane describe its effects so well?

Poe knew sadness and grief his whole life. His mother died when he was only a baby, he frequently argued with his foster father, and his beloved wife died of tuberculosis. One morning he was found unconscious on the streets and died not long after. There is evidence that he was an alcoholic and that his death was caused by his drinking. There is even a story that he was a victim of voter fraud. There was a group of people who would take drunk men to various voting precincts, getting them progressively drunker so that they couldn't say they had already voted, and have them vote for a candidate several times.
But we have as much proof of that as we have that Poe was insane.

Thanks so much for reading. Pleasant Screams...
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

Share or Bookmark
Print It Save to Bookcase View Reviews Make Reader Pick Promote This
© Copyright 2016. Dean Kuch All rights reserved. Registered copyright with FanStory.
Dean Kuch has granted, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

You need to login or register to write reviews.

It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.

Interested in posting your own writing online? Click here to find out more.

Write a story or poem and submit your work to receive reviews on your writing. Publish short stories on our book writing site and enter the monthly contests. Guaranteed reviews for everything you write and you will be ranked. Information.

  Contact Us

© 2016, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Statement