For NaPoWriMo Day 22 the Prompt is: ” to take one of the following statements of something impossible, and then write a poem in which the impossible thing happens: ‘The clock can’t strike thirteen.‘”
I’m combining with Michael from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Tale Weaver Prompt #166 on the theme of “exploring the sensations of being lost, not knowing where you are and realizing you are wandering aimlessly. How and/or who do you ask for help?”

Credit: Mara Eastern. Used with Permission for MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie.
The clock can’t strike thirteen
Thirteens the witching hour dim
Dim as the black soundless night
Dim as every street’s the same
Same as the last and same as the next
Same figures leering in an unfathomable maze
Maze where I don’t know where here is
Maze where each turn is the wrong way
Way down cobblestone paths
Way down roads with naught but silence
Silence without comfort
Silence that hastens quivering
Quivering and deciding to go back
Quivering as I wander in circles
Circles towards the same stuccoed shops
Circles to windows with signs reading, “Closed”
Closed as midnight has long passed chimed
Closed no matter my banging on houses
Houses red-bricked, idyllic in day
House white-fenced unhearing of strangers
Strangers as I, but I am no harm
Strangers as they who follow and whisper
Whisper that I’m lost and cannot escape
Whisper of this hours unholiness
Unholiness as the demons mock my steps
Unholiness as the graveyard headstones crack
Crack as stones splits with moaning
Crack as hands reach, bloodied and fragile
Fragile as my skin sweating and chilled
Fragile as heels broken — left in bare-feet
Bare-feet blackened from putrid streets
Bare-feet cut by pebbles with each step
Step here, step there, no where leads home
Step into the inescapable hour trapped
Trapped as the chants drew me far
Trapped as I bewitched scampered
Scampered away from the party’s delights
Scampered into the sudden mist further
Further into the labyrinth, a sweet dream in daylight
Further into the hour my grandmother warned
Warned of those of dark intent who wander
Warned of the hour so few remember
Remember the creatures who frighten
Remember the creatures who chase
Chase in the thirteenth hour’s delusions
Chase me, knowing I knew better
Better despite my heart’s rapid fluttering
Delusions fade, a light burns — the wicked-hour passes
©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.






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