An old poem I recently re-wrote... "A chill of ice goes down my spine,the shadows move..."
|Still and silent, not a sound,
even wind cannot be found.
The ghostly calm within the air,
stands on end, my every hair.
A chill of ice goes down my spine,
the shadows move, but are not mine.
Are these silhouettes of others past?
Does some lost soul forever last,
and haunt the ground on which I stand,
to guard his grave, protect his land?
Or could it all be in my mind,
is there no ghost for me to find?
There’s no supernatural being here,
just dark, tall tales to feed my fear.
At least that’s what I tell my heart,
when I hear a sudden howling start.
It grips my soul, that mournful sound,
and I try to run, but my feet are bound.
Now as if someone has bid me stay,
I'm trapped in this immortal fray.
So if you wish again to see my face,
you’ll find me here in this grave place.
In companionship of those long gone,
I'm praying that the sun will dawn.