Whispers In The Darkness

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just a poem about a haunted place i wrote in math class. it isnt to bad, i suppose.

Submitted: January 04, 2010

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Submitted: January 04, 2010

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Whispers in the darkness,

Giggles down the lane,

The spirits here are restless,

They drive the sanest man insane.

Ball gowns are see through,

As are outlined faces,

They dance and carry on like so,

Yet never move from their places.

The wind carries their echoes,

Voices from the grave and beyond,

The spirit world in this place shows,

How of this place of dwelling it is fond.

In the bedroom, a young woman,

decked in faded  reds and pinks,

as she waits for her summons,

She stares out the wondow and thinks.

In the kitchen a young boy,

scratches out crude letters in dust,

with the broken tip of some old toy,

now age old and covered in rust.

In the parlor a young girl,

plays the piano and shakes her curls,

around her is a chain of pearl,

as she plays around her it twirls.

In the garage a teenage mechanic,

Wipes away the grease and sweat,

Glances at the long abandoned classic,

ANd returns to work to pay off his debt.

A man in the billiards room,

snaps the pole to make his shot,

and as he whistles to 'The Old Saloon',

He pinches out an amount of pot.

The young woman in the bedroom sighs,

leans out the window for fresh air,

screams as out that window she flys,

Dies and returns to her upstairs lair.

The young boy in the kitchen,

sits to close to the fire,

And yet as he goes up in flames,

he laughs without bothering to prespire.

The young girl in the parlor playing,

catches her necklace on the lamp,

looses her feet and begins swinging,

Then sinks back to the ground like a champ.

The mechanic working on the car

accidentally hits the holding rod,

Breaks his neck and cant move his head very far,

Then slips through the air and at the car nods.

The man in the billiards room,

Suddenly falls down on his stick,

Through his neck as as he does swoon,

Then stands back up and plays agian.

It is not a place for the living,

Though once it might have been.

Now the mortal at the place's name are blanching,

And running from the place of accidental sin.

Whispers in the darkness,

Giggles down the lane,

The spirits here are restless,

They drive the sanest man insane.


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