What lurks in the woods you cannot see,
Blinded by mist – shrouded in mystery.
A whispered song under howling breath,
Syrup mud – you hike and trench.
Misty breeze and sycamores sway,
Waving their arms in aged dismay.
Morning dew glistens like glass,
A glimpse of the future in wake of the past.
A faltered man some claim to sight,
Limping along the riverbank at night.
Folklore to many but real to some,
In hopes he isn’t real is the real conundrum.
Tattered robes the colour of rope,
Cursing at the stars and wailing without hope.
Spotted in twilight and gone in morning mist,
His image sporadic – rare as the lunar eclipse.
But a voice is heard dense as the wind,
Unclear to achieve if friend or fiend.
Heard throughout time, no language of mankind,
A tortured soul replaced a peace of mind.
To see is to believe but fog cloaks the thinning air,
How can you erase what was never there?
The panic caused falls through any decree,
What lurks in the woods you cannot see.
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Horror in Words
PoetryA small collection of poems and phrases in celebration of the genre that is horror. Always adding new poems and hope to include a few stories also, so keep an eye out. We all love a bit of horror. A big thank you to everyone who has messaged or vot...
