A howl of wind calls,
beckoning all the ghoulish apparitions
from their anguished slumber.
The stumbling lumber of death reborn.
These mystic silhouettes;
shadows of a past long forgotten,
rise like a fog that masquerades as thoughts.
Legend and folklore are dismissed as folly.
Lunar illumination; moon beams
shrouded in mystery. Their sordid history
brings a chill, as fright displaces your resolve.
Blood marks the place where death resides.
Your hunger burns and you crave
the nectar of a once beating heart.
But, as life departs, the pangs stab
bringing you one step closer to the soil.
Didn't frighten me! (says she, whistling down the wind, and crossing everything that will cross)
ReplyDeleteDon't forget to re-post your link on Friday's Come One Come All, so that others can find you.
Yeah, I know. I just get anxious and jump the gun on occasion. Will do Viv. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteI love everything about this; great words and especially the last two lines!
ReplyDeleteWV: fearic!
I really like the close pairing of slumber-stumbling. Among other things.
ReplyDelete