The HAND
The young lass strolled through the darkened cemetery,
Passing innocently above his coffin's home.
The withered HAND reached up through the ground
And dragged her terrified body under the muddy loam.
She tried so valiantly to resist the HAND;
Her horrible screams filled the darkened night;
But sorely she lost that life/death struggle
As her body slowly vanished from sight.
Her choking screams were the last sounds heard
As her final breaths were drawn;
The nearby small-town was locked in fear
Knowing the HAND was still around.
The HAND that terrorized the countryside
For nigh unto two-hundred years;
The HAND that pillaged and murdered
Leaving the folks servile in abject fear.
It is said the HAND is that of the Count
Hanged for deflowering an innocent.
His HAND severed from his still-living body
Buried separately as complete punishment.
But the HAND lives amongst the living-dead
And exacts its hideous revenge.
Who knows where it will strike next?
Is that your house around the next bend?
DaLovePoet
© 2001 Mike Diaz (All rights reserved
03/10/01
