Familiar_Stranger

Familiar_Stranger

Status: Finished

Genre: Poetry

Houses:

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Poetry

Houses:

Summary

This is sort of a murder mystery poem with an unexpected twist. I was asked to write a mystery poem using imperatives (commands/instructions), and the imperatives were meant to guide the reader through a story. In this poem, I intended the narrator to be supposedly guiding the reader in order for them to solve a crime. In the end, the narrator guide turns around and reveals himself to be the murderer which the reader detective is seeking. Please leave comments :)
Share :
Twitter

Summary

This is sort of a murder mystery poem with an unexpected twist. I was asked to write a mystery poem using imperatives (commands/instructions), and the imperatives were meant to guide the reader through a story. In this poem, I intended the narrator to be supposedly guiding the reader in order for them to solve a crime. In the end, the narrator guide turns around and reveals himself to be the murderer which the reader detective is seeking. Please leave comments :)

Content

Submitted: March 18, 2012

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: March 18, 2012

A A A

A A A


Remember now, this is not a game.

Stay alert, breathe and don’t blink.

Keep your wits about you. Listen. Think.

 

Now open your eyes, you’re in a bloodstained field,

A poppy field, surrounded by staring red eyes.

Swaying in the wind, whispering – don’t listen, it’s all lies.

 

Follow the path and take the left turn,

The oak tree will shield you from the light.

Move swiftly, avoid distraction, stay out of sight.

 

Straight ahead of you is an old wooden door.

Open it, and gingerly step inside. Bang!

The door slams shut behind you,

And the prison swallows you whole.

 

Consider yourself trapped in the belly of the beast.

The victim was last seen entering here.

We’re counting on you now, master your fear.

 

Tiptoe a little further into the dimly lit shack,

Derelict and damp, greasy and grimy.

The gaseous smell hovering in the air,

A trembling hand rests on your shoulder, it’s slimy.

 

Turn around and face the victim’s killer,

He’s tall, masked and slightly familiar.

Freeze now as your vision starts to blur,

Gun to the head and the air is thick and unclear.

 

Remember now, this is not a game.

Stay alert, breathe and don’t blink.

Keep your wits about you. Listen. Think.

 


© Copyright 2017 PurpleDream19. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Comments

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

Other Content by PurpleDream19

The Booksie 2017 Poetry Competition

More Poetry Poems

Popular Tags