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I came up with this title out of the blue.
Three times the cuckoo's clock struck. It was three o'clock a.m. The moon was big, bright, and full. When the moon's full, crazy things happen. By committing bizarre crimes, creatures of the human sense acknowledge their weirdness when the wolves howl and the owls hoot. These bizarre crimes are so bizarre, that nightmares will invade your dreams. Your imagination runs wild because the nightmares are so scary, and run it does.

Like scratching your fingers down a chalkboard, sudden madness creates a doom so screechy, that even the witches aren't able to ride their brooms. Eerie wailing sirens don't even compete with the fog. Bats fly around with notions to suck the blood right out of you; it matters not, because you won't feel a thing. The transition will be so smooth, that you won't even notice the aroma.

Surrounding the earth with such contentment that astounds the eyes with wonder; the esteem produces a glistening effect. One bite from the vampire causes an extreme amount of pain, but, one aspirin serves as the cure-all from all the garlic that keeps them away.

Misinformation is the dust that grinds the sandy beach into a smooth bunch of granules. The particles that make the oyster shells shine come from the granules that make pearls of wisdom. Who knows the answers to life's undersea ventures better than the pearls of an oyster?

The prelude to a good movie comes from the remnants of satisfaction. The ending of a scene is the wonder of endurance; it questions why the essence of a fresh-smelling otter tries to imitate the uniqueness of a seal. Encountering the waters of the rain and the ocean takes a lot of bravery. Riding the waves will capture the white caps with dignity and grace.

Along the shorelines, masterminded wizards showcase their talents by throwing out sand dollars from the legendary tales of long ago. As they sailed on the open seas of days gone by, these tales are succulent (rich in interest); the action of the explorers was caught giving loads of similarities to creatures thrashing around a poisonous sea, wanting to destroy any inkling of sanity that you have. To the betterment of factual knowledge, abetting to have the truth about the story told, is a mystery that's been solved. A time of brokenness is the distinction of a fondness that didn't make much sense, yet you lived in the reality of it, is the remembrance of the happy and sad times.

At three o'clock a.m., the cuckoo's clock chimed; it didn't matter if you were awake or asleep; the craziness in your head wasn't what you thought it to be.

Written by Anna Marie Carlson
Wednesday, October 27, 2021
© Copyright 2021 Anna Marie Carlson (annamc.poet at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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