Poetry Of A Count

one can say I was 'tea-ken' by death

One night, I journeyed down
To the far-flung end of town
By the sea.
I spied a run-down shop
With a sign that made me stop:
"We serve tea."

With a light nudge on the door,
I sneaked inside the store
Full of mice.
I coughed as dusts dispersed,
Through the cobwebs, I traversed,
Full of flies.

On the corner that I feared,
A horrid wraith appeared,
Eyeing me.
My body trembled north
As the spectral wraith said forth,
"What'll it be?"

Strong fear shook me inside,
And my consciousness then cried,
"I must flee!"
But I swallowed my despair.
With a meek voice, I declared:
"A cup of tea."

As the grim wraith flew away,
Determined to obey
My one plea,
Another ghost arose,
A small girl, white as rose,
And told me:

"Pity the souls who enter this realm,
As they're left and bidden adieu.
Flee now, or he'll see one's out of place,
And he'll make room for you."

I said, my fear now dissolving:

"Yes, I yearn to flee this horrid place,
But I sense you need some aid.
Let me lend you a hand, we'll flee together,
And your soul will then be saved."

She went to heed my words,
But faltered like the birds,
When she saw,
The spectral wraith return
With a special kind of urn
On its claw.

"Here's your tea." It declared.
But the drink that it prepared,
Reeked of filth.
The stench invaded my nose,
That a portion I disposed,
Was then spilt.

The specter raised its voice,
To a hideous morbid noise,
"Take a sip!"
The girl, who hid below,
Gestured to me, "No.
Close your lips."

But fear kept haunting me,
That I chose to drink the tea,
And I choked.
My body plunged down south,
As the tea dripped from my mouth,
Oozing smoke.

I knew my life was done,
When my bright and golden sun
Turned to coal.
And now, this wraith who dwells
In this terrifying hell
Owned my soul.

The girl then closed the door,
As I laid dead on the floor,
Out of breath.
"He doesn't serve tea." She said.
"No wonder you're now dead,
as he serves death."