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copious stories
are told about it
and it is of a floating
figure's fit

on one of them
coming into your view
it may give you a
shivering chill's preview

it can be loitering
on a dark stairway
waiting to unnerve
your very clay

dare you walk into
the old mason's yard
for there's a phantom
inside the said yard

Vincent Price can readily
evoke a scream
as his voice lends its self
to such a deem
Ankush Samant Nov 2014
I was dreaming,
That I was a bird.
I was a bird,
Flying higher and higher.
And I reached so high,
That I couldn't breathe any more.
I tried to turn back,
Back to the ground,
And suddenly the earth's gravity,
Pulled me hard;
I came crashing down!
I closed my eyes with my wings,
And woke up with a jolt,
I had my hands on my eyes,
And I was crying.
I cried so much,
The my tears flooded the room.
I opened the room,
And ran out,
But my tears flooded the whole place;
I started drowning in my own tears,
I could hardly breathe!
I tried hard to swim to the top,
There was no stopping,
The only way was to fly off,
From this flood of tears.
I flapped my hands,
With all my might,
But the tears entered me,
And filled in my lungs.
I woke up with a shock,
Flapping my fins,
As hard as I could.

Alas, I don't know,
Whom am I,
A bird, a man or a fish?
Or is this all a dream?

Whose dream am I dreaming?

— The End —