Being a sort of poet,
I wrote mostly about shadows and ghosts.
The things that frighten me the most,
sent shivers down my spine,
To be free of them I pine.
But a ghostly hell
is embedded in my mind.
Spooking me at the turn of the night
No where to go, no flight.
Out of my poems they have come,
Frightening really are some!
To sit by my table,
Even as I wrote this fable.
Goading me to become ,
a screeching ,god knows what thing.
Where to run,
in this world I have spun.
Some poet am I,
bringing to life these monsters of the night,
smelling like the wretched of the earth,
Thier spell too strong to break.
A brew I shall make ,
to drive them away,
I am not so helpless you see.
A nature genie I may be,
Whoosh, I will make them go,
Scaring the hell out of thier souls.
Shivers to them I will dole,
Vengeance is my goal,
Sorry guys.you came down the wrong road.
Now a wand wielding poet am I!
See me fly in your face, while you die.
