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In the hush of midnight's breath,
Where shadows weave the tales of death,
I call upon the buried cries,
Beneath the earth, where sorrow lies.
A flickering candle casts its doom,
In the heart of the forsaken room.
Walls whisper secrets lost in time,
And clocks pulse with a ghostly chime.
The air grows thick with sins concealed,
The scars of grief long unrevealed,
As whispers rise from graves unknown,
In twisted tongue, a haunted moan.
Specters coil in a spiral dance,
Bound by the spell of morbid trance,
Eyes like embers, hollow, dim,
Locked in a stare cold as sin.
With each incantation, dread takes form,
A spectral tide, a brewing storm.
This is no prayer, nor holy creed—
Only darkness sown from mortal need.
Yet when dawn creeps upon the curse,
I'm left alone, my soul immersed,
A ghost myself, a hollow thing,
Forever bound by The Conjuring.
YOU ARE READING
Echoes in the alley
PoetryIn these pages, you'll find poetry that lingers like the scent of smoke, capturing the allure of secrets kept close to the heart. The night becomes a lover, the alley a refuge, and each word a step into the beautiful, melancholic dance of souls year...
