Tap…tap…tap….tap…
The sound aroused him from his sleep,
a steady tapping in the dark;
in groggy fog he searched for context.
"A leaky faucet," he concluded,
“Someone will have hell to pay
if I have anything to say.”
He started to doze off, and then
after a brief interlude
the tapping started up again.
He slowly opened up one eye
but only darkness greeted him
“It’s the middle of the night,
the witching hour has come and gone
it’s not even close to dawn.”
Once more exhaustion drew him in
in this dark and warm cocoon,
“I think I’ll cancel my agenda.
Hell, I might even sleep till noon!”
He didn’t notice right away
how the air was growing thin,
and as he slipped to dreamless sleep
the rap, tap ,tap, began again,
“Enough’s enough!” he screamed out loud;
the sound lost to the confined space.
And so he finally realized
there was something quite amiss.
He couldn’t move his arms or legs.
It seems his bed had been replaced.
“Who might want to do such thing?”
he could not extrapolate
“It’s not as if I wasn’t liked.
“Who would send me to this fate?”
Now he’d reached a panicked state.
He clawed the wood as best he could
the beating of his heart grew louder
deprived of precious oxygen
till darkness finally swallowed him.
Revenge for his depravity?
For sins committed in his youth?
For lies and infidelity?
No one really knows the truth.
Buried in an pauper’s grave,
someone hung a wooden sign:
“For all the people this man hurt,
he finally got his “just deserts”
© Ginny Brannan 2026
"As we sow, so shall we reap"
Image taken by author
