PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

As night falls it touches and crawls across the crops below.
A farm house in the middle of nowhere.
Where roads last miles amid telephone poles.
And in the distance over the muddy horizon feathers might fall.
The skies clear twist and yellow pitch into the black.
Grandfather kept his oxygen tank next to his chair.
Where by the plate oxygen masks replicate.
Almost 1am and the flickering of the television dances upon the walls.
On screen the flames formulate The Cavalry from Hell.
Another technicolor cinescope.
The boy put on the mask and looked out the window.
On the empty road under the milky glow he saw a man with rifle walking.
There weren't any cars to shine headlights hence his outline blended night.
Only distance and air like shooting stars. 
The man stopped to turn and stare in a confused manner.
The boy quickly closed the curtains.
And he thought about when Grandfather warned him of those types.
The men from nowhere.
Upon the ceiling he could see the wallpaper grow.
Breaking away, until another day.