Whispers of the Soul

Horror

The Forgotten Ones

In the shrouded whispers of the moonlit night,
They rise from the shadows, ghosts lost from sight.
Forgotten by time, their names fade away,
But vengeance is brewing, and justice will stay.

Once they were vibrant, their lives full of dreams,
But the world turned its back, tearing apart their seams.
Now bound to the earth, they linger in pain,
Their echoes of sorrow, like a haunting refrain.

With hollowed-out eyes, they search for the past,
For the wrongs done to them, the memories cast.
Through the mists of despair, they gather their might,
The forgotten ones rally, igniting the night.

From graves overgrown, where wildflowers weep,
They rise with a purpose, from slumber so deep.
Each spirit a story, a life left undone,
A thirst for redemption, the reckoning begun.

They wander through alleys where laughter once bloomed,
Now haunted by silence, their presence consumed.
They whisper to strangers, the ones who forget,
In the depths of their sorrow, a fate they'll regret.

With voices like thunder, they echo their plight,
"Remember us now, for we'll reclaim our right!
You've taken our peace, our lives, our breath,
But from ashes of anger, we rise from our death."

Through crumbling old buildings and streets cloaked in fog,
They carry their fury, like a relentless smog.
For every injustice, for every cruel snare,
They'll reclaim what was lost, for the world isn't fair.

With vengeance ignited, they summon the storm,
The forgotten ones gather, their spirits reborn.
In the dead of the night, they'll reclaim their names,
And set fire to the darkness, igniting their flames.

So tremble, you mortals, and heed their call,
For the past never forgets, and justice befalls.
In the flicker of shadows, in the chill of the breeze,
The forgotten ones rise, as the world drops to its knees.

Their memories etched in the fabric of time,
A testament woven, a rhythm, a rhyme.
For though they were lost, they're alive in our dreams,
The forgotten ones' justice, as fierce as it seems.