Tortured Undead
The nightly rattle heard down the hall,
The shadow form of a man stands tall.
The sound of chains strike fear to my heart.
His chance long past, he cannot depart.
Seeking my soul, he desires my fall.
His pain, I can feel, for after all,
He heeded not Heaven's urgent call,
But let his anguished form to impart
The forever torture of rattling chains.
The nightly rattle heard down the hall
Plays with my mind's sense of rationale.
Are eyes weary, or do shadows dart
To whittle the years on my life's chart?
Soulless, he yearns for the sensual,
Yet--
The forever torture of rattling chains.
Copyright © Hilda Greenhough | Year Posted 2024
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