The Haunting
The sound of pacing footsteps
echos through the silent halls.
Sleepless eyes watch the blinking clock,
frightened of things within the walls.
Two shaking hands wring themselves,
feeling an imaginary chill.
A beating heart hammers the chest,
tasting the emotionally unstable will.
Dry lips feel the tongue's caress,
as moisture slips across the skin.
But the dying color of the face
shows the terror building within.
A human being strokes their fears
with the ghostly hand of guilt.
The damaged soul is haunted
by the walls of lies they built.
Copyright © Angie Sharp | Year Posted 2006
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