The Invoking - Poem

Maybe a warning even,
But a thought that never came.

The cabin appeared in the distance,
Sulking like a stubborn child.

The moon shone a shimmering light,
Almost cowering behind the clouds.

A hint, A clue,
It seeked to not reek of fear.

The mite eaten wooden door croaked,
Painfully like an aged person as it moved.

The room was dusty,
But that it should be as empty it was.

Setting down the tools,
Setting ourself down,
We prepared for our misery,
Not knowing what was what.

The shift in room temperature,
The sudden silence all around,
All been an warning in itself,
Which was thought not important to be heeded.

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