The bedroom darkens; sleep becomes a door,
where Elm Street waits beneath a borrowed sky.
A glove of knives comes scratching at the floor,
and no one knows how long the night will lie.
Where Elm Street waits beneath a borrowed sky,
a boiler room is burning without flame.
And no one knows how long the night will lie,
because the dream remembers every name.
A boiler room is burning without flame;
four blades rise like fingers in the dark.
Because the dream remembers every name,
one falling child becomes another's mark.
Four blades rise like fingers in the dark;
the walls grow thin between the dream and day.
One falling child becomes another's mark,
and waking offers no reliable way.
The walls grow thin between the dream and day.
A bedroom darkens; sleep becomes a door.
And waking offers no reliable way
when something waits beside the bedroom floor.
A bedroom darkens; sleep becomes a door.
A glove of knives comes scratching at the floor.
The bedroom darkens; sleep becomes a door.
And no one knows what waits outside the door.
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Author:
Matthew R. Callies (
Offline) - Published: October 19th, 2026 06:46
- Comment from author about the poem: Inspired by the 1984 film A Nightmare on Elm Street.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 5
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
- In collections: Cinephile's Checklist, Poems for Spooktober.
Offline)
Comments2
Matthew this one holds the spirt of the season and reminisces over an old movie of Nightmare on Elm street. Freddy is on the march. Well done
Oh, HELL YES, Matthew! LOL! You’ve got a lifelong Freddy Krueger fan grinning from ear to ear over here! And wouldn’t you know it, I just watched A Nightmare on Elm Street Part 2: Freddy’s Revenge tonight! Talk about perfect timing! What a treat to find this! 🔪🖤🌹
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