The Unembodied Essence of Wandering Spirits That What We Call The Desperate Beauty of Eternity

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Something I wrote about a decade ago after I saw the movie Corpse Bride.

Submitted: April 28, 2019

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Submitted: April 28, 2019



It’s been so long since the last time I was stunned with such fascination

Again I was caught by surprise by the sight of sudden adoration

But never hath she thought I would discover the secret she kept locked away

Slowly consumed by time, it started to devour me in such an elaborate way

But before I tell you more about the event that changed my entire life history

Let me speak about the woman, or devil, that was way beyond mystery


She came from a town that was full of decay, though it carried a humble name

But who would have thought that a town like that, brought forth such a shame

A wary lady, whose name was nothing but a delight to hear, suddenly spoke

“At nightfall there dwells a spirit in the midst of hours, under a Japanese oak”

Though no one seemed to listen to this tale of the woman who once was a dame


But the story that lonely, unknown lady told intrigued me with unknown desire

And that cold, long night, the fragments of my perplexed dreams were but dire

The thought of a wandering spirit kept me awake and was all I could think of

In order to ease my mind I hath to catch a small glimpse of the entity from above

I looked for the young lady for the rest of the story was what I needed to acquire


The maiden that once was so noble, led me to the forest of her so existent tale

The night was ice-cold, and the moon was the only thing that was there to prevail

Our trip resulted to a place where the massive oaks stood quietly in the icy wind

So this was the early mentioned point where it was that the young girl hath sinned

My body was filled with astonishment when I saw a small grave in so much detail


It was even greater when I saw a small spirit, utterly looking for salvation

I could not hath thought that this entity could be the base of my frustration

However, the grave that not carried the maiden’s name, hath flowers that hath all died

Thus it brought me to another grave; in solitary it stood empty on the other side

Panicked and petrified I stood before the grave all alone

And the shadow that was cast, was none other than my own



© Copyright 2019 Nick Van loy. All rights reserved.

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