Ghost of One's Past
It was dark-
darker than a 1am morning,
the rusted leaves were following the wind and some were slightly rustling,
here a lonely owl hoo's, and there echoes a sound of another trodden leaf,
the moon is full but yet the pitch night is the booming light's true thief,
the cold cuts through skin like an edged dagger,
and the obscure surroundings make your dazed feet stagger.
The wooden door flies open under the howling wind's mercy,
and my steps are lead by the haunted house's luring mystery.
The wood loudly cracks with each alarming step inside,
while this abandoned menage of unseen presences offers you no place to hide.
I hear the whisper of non-existent voices in the distance,
but suddenly
my ears were flooded with the sound of a single wooden crack;
I was fully aware of its existence.
I got lost in a moulded house filled with monsters of the unknown;
Welcome to the Ghost House of one's past,
and beware:
memories are ghosts that never leave you alone.
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