Author's Note: I don't often write poetry, only now and then when I feel inspired. So at 2:30 in the morning I came up with this little gem. The POV switches over midway through, sorta, and the style is all over and the grammar is a bit different but it's poetry right? lol. Anywho, please read this and tell me what you think. I'm very iffy about it. I love it but i wanna know what you guys think and if you understand it. Any questions just ask. Be nice though :D And constructive criticism always accepted.

Winchester's Rest

Dawn is creeping; condensation is leaking,

along the open window pane

Worms are nibbling; a shadow remains hovering,

above a child's bed

Tick. Tock

Tick. Tock.

Lawrence soon will shake.

The curtains sway as the pendulum sways.

Silence at first.

Sulfur rising.

Thick and brewing.

Crawling; swarming;

Poignantly staining.

everything in its path

The child cries

Fearful and guttural is the sound

White caress of a silk gown

Tousled locks of gold

Petite smile; granted one final time

Shock and awe.

So follows the scream.

Darkness lingers

Run.

Barefooted lover; hero for another day

Moth torn house coat

Musty and damp

Wear it like armor

Never look back

Against a pastel blue

Watch her body climb

Cry out

Flames ignite

Night is fading; flesh is burning,

along the nursery walls

A Winchester is crying; mother is dying

towards the end of this narrow hall

Sons of John;

Escape.

Scatter onto the grass

Gaze into the heat

Brother Dean;

Protector of the meek

Mutter your reassurances

Bite your lip;

You will not cry

Baby Sam;

Let out your fears.

Sing your song of woes and heartache

Unguarded

The night takes with it your innocence

In return is destiny

Husband of Mary;

Take up arms

Hold your children and run fast

Away from the falling embers

Shield them from the flashing neon blue and red

Hide away inside yourself

Swallow the emotion, the hurt, the pain

Spit out the vengeance and call out its name

Travel the highway

No stopping tonight.

Go.

Push harder.

No pain. No gain.

Watch your boys grow.

Together.

Apart.

Fade into the scenery.

Find what you've been searching for.

Twenty-two years of seeking.

But at what cost?

Possessed by the evil

Dark nostalgia from that cold November night

The blood runs thick

Sam calls out your name

Dean's body is limp

Samuel Colt made a gun

It clatters to the floor.

One bullet imbedded in your leg

Only one bullet more

The Impala is broken; a doctor has spoken

above a hospital bed.

A secret still lingering and a quest that needs fulfilling

before any Winchester can rest