Whispers From The Abyss: Dark Verses

The Forgotten Crypt

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It was said to exist far beyond the hills,
Where the trees grew twisted, dark, and still.
An ancient crypt, long sealed by stone,
Where the dead rest not, but quietly moan.
No path led there, no map was drawn,
Yet every night, I dreamt till dawn—
Of cold, damp walls, of shadows deep,
Of secrets buried, lost to sleep.

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The Story Begins…

I first heard the tale as a child, whispered to me by an old man whose voice trembled with both fear and fascination. The Forgotten Crypt, he called it—a place not meant for the living. He spoke of it as if it were alive, not merely a tomb, but a hungry thing that waited for those foolish enough to seek it out. It was not the dead that haunted the crypt, he said, but the memories they left behind. Forgotten souls, abandoned dreams, and unfulfilled desires, all sealed beneath the earth.

I dismissed it, of course, as nothing more than a tale told to frighten children. But as the years passed, I found myself drawn to the story, as if the crypt itself was calling me.

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The Poem Continues…

Through nights of fog, beneath the moon,
I felt its pull, an ancient tune.
The wind would whisper in my ear,
A name I did not wish to hear.
The crypt, it seemed, was never lost,
But waiting there, a line to cross.
I found the path, though none was shown,
My feet were guided, not my own.

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The Story Darkens…

I found myself wandering one evening, my feet carrying me toward the woods without conscious thought. The air was thick, heavier than usual, and the sky above was bruised with clouds. I had no destination in mind—or so I told myself—but I knew where I was going. The crypt had already claimed me long before I set out.

The trees closed in around me, their gnarled branches like skeletal fingers reaching out to grasp and pull. The deeper I ventured, the more the world around me seemed to fade, as if the forest itself was falling away into a deeper, darker place. And then, through the mist, I saw it—the crypt, half-buried in the earth, its stone door worn smooth by the passage of time. It was as if it had been waiting for me all these years, and now that I had found it, there was no turning back.

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The Poem Unfolds…

I stood before the heavy door,
With fingers trembling, cold and sore.
The stone was slick, the air was thin,
As if the crypt could breathe me in.
I pushed the door, though I knew well,
That entering meant bidding farewell.
To light, to warmth, to life outside,
To everything I’d tried to hide.

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The Story Deepens…

The door gave way with a groan that echoed far into the darkness below. A cold gust of air met me, carrying with it the scent of rot and something far older—something forgotten. I descended the stairs, my footsteps muffled by the thick layer of dust and decay that lined the stone floor. The walls seemed to close in around me, the air growing colder with each step.

I could feel it, even before I saw it. The weight of the crypt’s forgotten souls pressed down on me, a palpable, suffocating presence that gnawed at the edges of my mind. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I found myself in a vast chamber, lit only by the faint glow of the moon through cracks in the stone above. Coffins lined the walls, some broken, others sealed tight. But it wasn’t the coffins that drew my attention.

It was the shadows.

They moved, just at the edge of my vision, flickering and writhing like things alive. I could hear them whispering, soft at first, but growing louder, more insistent. They spoke of loss, of sorrow, of lives forgotten and dreams discarded. And though their words were foreign, I understood them.

They spoke of me.

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The Poem’s Crescendo…

The crypt was filled with ancient cries,
Of those who lived a thousand lies.
Forgotten dreams, lost love, and pain,
All trapped within this tomb’s domain.
The shadows writhed, they reached for me,
A siren song that would not flee.
They knew my fears, my deepest sin,
And whispered soft, “Come join us in.”

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The Story’s Conclusion…

I should have left. I should have turned back before it was too late. But the shadows—they knew me. They spoke of the things I had tried so hard to forget, the things I had buried deep beneath the surface of my mind. Regrets, failures, the faces of those I had wronged. They weren’t just haunting this crypt—they were haunting me.

As the whispers grew louder, I found myself walking toward the center of the chamber, where an empty coffin lay open, its dark maw waiting. I knew, somehow, that it was meant for me.

The crypt was not just a place for the dead. It was a place for the forgotten, for those whose lives had been consumed by regret, by sorrow, by the weight of all they could never be.

And so, I lay down. The shadows closed in around me, wrapping me in their cold embrace. I heard the stone door groan shut above me, sealing me inside.

The crypt had claimed me, as it had claimed so many before.

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The Poem’s Final Stanza…

Now here I lie, beneath the stone,
A soul forgotten, lost, alone.
The shadows dance, they whisper still,
Of lives unled, of dreams to kill.
For every heart that beats with grief,
The crypt awaits with cold relief.
So heed my tale, or you’ll descend,
To where forgotten dreams
must end.