A house on a haunted hill,
built by blood and dauntless will,
where no winds will blow and time stands still.
Woe hangs heavy in tainted air,
in the mingled breath of wraiths residing there-
unbridled pain enough for all to share. Lonesome ghosts with neither fleshbound face
nor recollected name, not a memory left of whence they came...
Each day the dreary same.
Hid by thorny woods dark and deep,
a house, a home, a demon's keep:
A place where nightmares sleep.
Though at first sight a mortal mind is clouded with fear,
this lowly abode was not abandoned here.
A maiden for whom the fiercest hurricane is but an ethereal tear,
she calls the cobwebs sacred space.
It is her secret place,
each spirit a friendly face.
Her heart bears a resilience too strong to kill,
and she makes her life her own
In a house on a haunted hill.
YOU ARE READING
Dark Poetry
PoesiaThis is a colection of thoughts or nightmares in form of poetry, some of them written by myself, some only gathered by me. The darkness is in all of us just waiting to get out, but not in the light. No, darkness reaches out for darkness, so you thin...
