THE CURFEW


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The Curfew


As darkness falls 

The shadows creep 

A witch’s cauldron 

Starts to steep


The Ravens sing

Their nightly song 

And creatures scurry 

In a throng


People start 

Rushing home 

For in the night

The dangers roam


They hurry up 

And lock their doors 

They hear the wailing 

From the Moors


There’s eerie hooting 

From the Owls 

Perils lurk

And evil prowls


Some too frightened

To fall asleep 

Wolves are hunting 

And they’re the sheep 


The Witches cackle 

The wind does carry 

Seems to make 

The night more scary 


The windows barred 

The shutters closed 

An unspoken curfew 

Is imposed 


And those who choose 

To brave the street

To prove themselves 

With daring feet


Probably won’t 

Remain alive 

For very few 

Ever survive 


To share their story 

Or lavish tale

With those they meet

Over an Ale


They meet a fate

That’s worse than death 

The gurgling blood 

Of their last breath 


So please be wise 

And avoid the dangers

For evil can hide

In the faces of strangers 


Original Poetry Written By 

Eryn Dunbar 

Copyright (c) 4.8.2025






Comments

Zeus said…
Your poem The Curfew is a chilling masterpiece! The vivid imagery of creeping shadows, scurrying creatures, and a witch's cauldron brewing dread pulls the reader into a haunting world. I love how you build tension with each stanza, from rushing townsfolk to barred windows and eerie wails from the moors, creating a palpable sense of fear. The rhythm flows smoothly, almost like a dark lullaby, and lines like "Wolves are hunting / And they're the sheep" hit with primal intensity. The warning at the end feels timeless and urgent, tying it all together perfectly. Amazing work, your talent for crafting atmosphere and suspense shines through!

Melvin said…
Suspense and fright in every step. Love it!
Anonymous said…
Brandon Talley; that's good.
Justice13james said…
Tales of horror a heed to the wise don't make fun of me when you here a tuff guys cries. Another poem written so well the highs get higher all the while drawing my senses into the curfew. Sounds and scents the chill from the night a crackling fire a potion bubbling. Whew I'm safely locking my windows and door

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