Under the cover of darkness,
Their voices echo hollowy beneath the howling wind,
Desperate cries of pain and hunger.
Dewy eyes sad and beautiful gleam in the moonlight.
What are these dark wraiths,
That they roam the netherwold and haunt the mortal night?
Thin strands of dark, sickly sweet blood drip from their formless entities,
Dappling the ground and the moist leaves of low trees.
Sillouettes agains the round moon,
They dance a dreadful dance,
Calling for lost loves with voices that of wolves.
The night is eternal,
Void of mortal beings and their sticks and stones.
Here humans cannot see them,
Cannot hear them either.
As it was so long ago.
© Copyright 2016 Chrysta. All rights reserved.
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