Haunted Woods

Behind silvery gray animus clouds, the moon does hide. The night does cry; its heartbeat rise and falls, like the tide. Celestial, sleepless, unbending, cold night gathered overhead, Veiling eerie shadows, eternal time with hideous guise, dread. Idle and dank, surrounded by broken-down fencing and gnarl skeletal tree, A grave “No TRESPASSING” sign forbidding entry to the beastly; Hangs warding off the unwanted and those had doubts, Only spiders spurred, floating sticky secure line hidden hereabouts. Wind weaves through mangled limbs with howls, and spies embed A gaunt, ghostly, hollow, hooded man, sickle in hand, in its stead; Reaping of life, lifting his black haunting mound shroud a ted. Condemned, refusing to release its ghostly dead. Strain, howling, a full moon he stands, searchingly ahead; Pain screams rip from his throat, bones, and soft tissue bled. A stir in the air dares to forsake, on, as he falls to his knees, unfed. Conned the night a moment longer, blood it did crave, then fled.