A Haunting Comes
`
O’ this eve of tortured souls
whence howls do taint the breeze
From shadows, eyes of crimson bead
aglow yon withered trees
A voice, this night, a moaning cry
in echoes carving chills
Of shackles gripped eternal flesh
o’er fog infested hills
Its message loud as bells a’ toll
the hour soon to rise
Neath minute hands of crooked span
to pierce deserted skies
A haunting comes this village square
in stench of midnight breath
So bolt your doors and draw the shades
to venture out means death
9/24/19
Written for: Haunted Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2019
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