The Haunting
Cold, so cold, as everything seems to enshroud me
encasing light, the flame of life - darkness within.
Slivers of blue, ice my lips, like a frozen lake.
Am I in a nightmare - is this where realms begin?
All alone, is this real - where did all this begin?
Sounds - a haunting violin.
Wistful melody stirring my spirit to flee
as walls echo non earthly vocals from within.
Then, melancholy silence, nothing to awake -
old portraits of past lives frozen in time therein.
In fear, I am bound in its presence and shut in.
Sounds - of eerie screams within.
Torn, flapping curtains are wings of omen to me;
Veils of black plumage, swirl and dance to death within.
My conscience not forsaken - dreams to awaken!
This hellish, long nightmare - how did this all begin?
Is this real? I know not within - truth kept therein.
Sounds - a ghostly violin.
Vibrating wind moans, groans, as I quiver to see
windows reflect ghastly visions staring within.
I dread the awake now as windows, doors, do shake;
a chilling foreboding fills me deep from within.
Then it stops, listen - tick, tick, tick! What dwells therein?
Sounds - echo my heart akin.
Pulsating rhythm as it resonates, flows, through me -
panelled walls, chimney, all breathing, contained herein.
Louder, louder, consuming me, I need to make
it stop! Or, be bound to this nightmare ever within.
Or reality - I know not? Must escape herein.
Sounds - hollow footsteps begin.
Mortal fear, frozen limbs, as these echoes draw me
to eerie murmurs that haunt and dampen my skin.
Dissonance sounds escalate - heart pounding, I shake;
Lasting impressions floating through air and within.
Doom scents the room, time to flee - save my soul within.
Sounds - more frightful screams begin.
Blending into shadows that become me, I flee
to nevermore suffer such mad torment within.
Bright orbs guides me to a passage to forsake
this terrifying world of darkness and ghosts therein.
Praying for salvation I announce all past sin.
Sounds - reality screams within.
Not alone for colourless spirits there I see
with hushed, funereal tones swirling as they begin
darting to, fro, with haunting faces of heartache.
Wretched souls, silhouettes, of years gone, remain therein.
Terror consumes me - need to leave - run from within.
Sounds - no sounds - realise within.
Ornate mirror hangs, cobwebs strewn, dims projection.
I glance searching for a white, pallor complexion.
Nothing, nothing! Horror!
There is no reflection …
Copyright © Christina Bowring | Year Posted 2023
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