I was sitting and watching the newly fallen leaves move in small patterns one day and part of the poem about leaves moving "...not by chance" came to me. I then tried to channel another famous poet that wrote scary stuff, since he is in my family tree. I had fun writing it and tried to end it on a flipside positive note.
The sky slowly grows dark
Like a seeking, creeping, shark.
Moving shadows disappear, but something
ominous and wicked is near.
It holds promises of fear my dear.
Leaves commit to a dance
as if well organized and not by chance.
Will circumstance meet your demise or
will it be a complete and unexpected surprise?
From the ground comes a moaning, groaning sound.
drumming, pounding, on your head.
Like the heartbeat of the long ago dead.
A wise individual once said,
it is the curtain of our mind that reflects our dread
making it real and not pretend.
The next time your fears begin to rise
Look within the window of your head
And shove them out until they are dead.