A short poem of things unseen, or are they?
In the belly of darkness, the visions bloom,
Hidden away from the naked eye.
For the things unsaid, from a long ago past,
Still whisper as we pass them by.
We cannot envision this alternate world
Nor tell if its smell is sweet,
As it happened, when the reaper came,
The story replays in the street.
With eyes blind to life, they cannot see,
As Demons and shadows they chase,
Macabre is the dance, of their nightly prowl
Remembering the life they embraced.
On cue they play out the days of their life,
Not knowing their time has been spent.
Hiding away, in the darkness of shadows
They search for a way to repent.
So close your eyes, don’t look, don’t listen,
Don’t search for ghosts of the haunt.
For if you look, you just may find them,
But it may not be what you want.