Along a dark shady road on a dark stormy night,
Black coated figures crept through shimmers of light
Cold wind was blowing and rain beating down,
Drowning the dust, forming mud on the ground
Everything silent, no sound to be made,
For the black coated figures made way to the graves.
Ghostly soft whispers begin to be heard
Howling and moaning, but not yet a word
In the midst of the noise, under the full moon
Just as the figures cry out in strange tune –
Kind of like wolves when out on the hunt—
Like flowers, from gravestones limbs did come up
Men crawled right out of their dirt sodden bed
Now by the black coats they were to be led
On looking people, in terror would cry
Purpose not needed, no reason to why
Question me not as to what really occurred
Rumors have spread, no reliable word
Stories have grown from that terrible night
Tales of great terror and tales of great fright
Usually tales come from nights such as these
Visitors listen, too frightened to leave
Whispers at first, it can almost be seen
Xanthic faces with dead eyes that gleam
Yellow moonlight for dark nights is saved
Zombies arising once more from their grave
YOU ARE READING
The Night
FantasyI wanted to write an acrostic poem using the entire alphabet. A strange idea, yes. A slightly difficult task, sometimes. But this is what I got. I'm rather proud of this since most of my poems don't turn out great. This impromptu poem, however, is o...
