Under the arc of stained boards, where ancient tales of goblins roared, the ground stirs softly, makes no sound, with death's perfume, a shroud profound.
In twilight's grasp, the cold wind sighs, a whispered truth beneath dark skies; shadows shift where spirits roam, among the tombstones — none come home.
"Follow him to the sacred place," I dare not dream; I can't escape.
Molars clash with spectral fangs, a chilling dirge that darkness sang.
Night unfolds with haunting grace — The moon ignites its silver face.
Yet in this stillness, dread takes flight, something twists beneath the night.
The air grows dense with tendrils deep, where secrets dwell and shadows creep.
Grinning skulls with hollow eyes, echo the brews of ancient lies.
Beneath the moon's relentless stare, Beware the dancers of despair!
Skeletons prance in morbid glee — A twisted fate now beckons me.
Cursed is this day and all its dreams, choking on sorrow's bitter streams.
The forest whispers my lament — "To curse this day" — a deep descent.
And when the wolves howl their refrain, their voices weave a thread of pain; Listen closely—you'll hear my shout — A haunting cry midst dreadful doubt.
What nature wrought in shadows cast, reminds us of life will not last.
Yet here I stand on hallowed ground — Amongst those lost who won't be found.
I grasp at moonlight's fleeting glow, while haunted by what I don't know; nature's grip tightens like a snare — Drawing me deeper into despair.
So, on this day when worlds collide, and specters dance where fears abide; I breathe in whispers once entwined — Embrace the night that stirs within my mind.
I curse this day not out of spite; but for the truths shadowing light — In every shade of green and gray — This cursed dance will lead astray!
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Wolf Poems
PoetryWolf poems often capture the essence of these majestic creatures, exploring themes of wilderness, freedom, and the primal instincts that drive them. They can evoke the haunting beauty of a wolf's howl under a full moon, the strength and unity of a p...
