Stephen King - Master Of The Magical World Of Horror

Poem By Velmar Pewee Hale Johnson

You're walking to the library late one night,
rushing to drop` off the Stephen King, book you borrowed.
The street lights shine, but not too bright.
A flash of lightning, thunder in the distance.
A dog howls pitifully in the alley you're about to approach.
As it begins to rain, your steps quicken, as does your pulse.
You stop in a diner for something to drink,
and wait till the now pouring rain, lets up a little.
Nobody's in sight, you take a seat at the counter,
and wait. A scream brings you to your feet,
and you begin to run. Up ahead, you see a tall,
dark, looming building.
The faster you run, the farther it seems to be,
just out of your reach.
You awaken in a state of panic, covered in sweat,
and surrounded by a bed full of, Stephen King's books,
and videos. You are awake, or are you?
Screams fill your bedroom as you look at your door,
and there stands someone,
who looks a lot like Jack Nicholson,
with something in his hands.

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