When I was going for a drive
Well being driven when
I realized that I did not have
My phone nor iPad
Were with me
The same thing with Sirenhead
I was not able to picture
The
Discs of light
Flying through the night sky
UFOs I saw
But I never thought to take a picture
But this I say
I believe

It was curious
that the horror stories
were not false

Believe it
or not
The pairs of glassy eyes
the horrific shadows
the blazing ignes fatui
the strange cold
the ghostly celebration

Termites, spiders, ants
and bats are alive
the rest are dead

The spectres and the skeletons
roam the island
they were **** sapiens

They exist betwixt
the cryptic hallucination
and the paradoxical illusion
**** sapiens is afraid

I, to mine eyes
Through to orchard's unafraid
Always my thoughts travel wide
And bless such fruit as may be made
Tumbling ever into, orchards bloom, and supple shade...

I, to mine eyes
Have yet to master my master's trade
My thoughts plotting, too far and wide
And mention not, so much left unmade
Unravelling my orchard's bloom, in a tearful fade...

I, to mine eyes
Am a pressed man, with so much yet to say
So, I claim these thoughts, too savvy tried
With humility, I forfeit this orchard, soft and stayed
And march a steady pace, into this soft parade...

I, to mine eyes
Have climbed my Everest, affected the deepest caves
Carved my thoughts a golden, enticing, compromise
Searched for Eldorado, and returned unscathed
Now, I march into my orchard's bloom, quite, unafraid...

I made my way
finally
to Point Pleasant
I crossed the Silver Bridge
and walked the blood soaked fields
where the Battle of Kanawha took place
I walked the streets and absorbed the energy
that hovered like unseen clouds
I approached an older woman walking her dog. She was very sweet and made me think of my Mom, God rest her soul. I knew there would be no harsh words or anger from this gentle lady.
I asked her with a friendly smile if she had a story of the Mothman she might share.
'Not the Mothman, she said...but I do have a story.
One from childhood that I've yet to tell anyone, not even my parents. I was maybe 11 or 12 and walking home after playing and it was getting late. I caught something out of the corner of my eye. When I looked, I saw a large plane losing altitude. It just came closer and closer until it leveled out and passed by very close. So close that I could see the passengers in their seats looking straight ahead, silhouetted against the light behind them. I could see their faces. It went by and then gained altitude again. The strangest thing is that I never heard a sound.
I'm not sure why I told you that story. I always felt that people would think I'm crazy. I suppose I can see that you are truly interested. So there you have it.'

I saw the museum, the ammo bunkers and TNT plant and went back to the hotel. I awoke the next morning to find two odd looking drops of blood on my pillow...still fresh. It startled me and I got up to see if it may have come from my ear. As I headed to the bathroom, I noticed more blood on the foot of the bed. In the bathroom there were 2 spots of fresh blood on the floor. I checked the mirror and found no blood in my ears. No nicks from shaving. No nicks on my arms, shoulders, neck or head. I have no idea whatsoever where that blood originated. And here's what really spooked me. They look like 2 very strange faces.

There were no phone calls from Indrid Cold. No prophecies of planes crashing or bridges collapsing, but I left Point Pleasant, West Virginia with a distinct and clear sense that I had tapped into an energy, peeked behind the curtain of Oz and maybe, just maybe I got their attention.

"Make me!"
she cries
"Make me feel again!"

I can't help with that at all
Her frail ghost has suffered so much

She has traveled the world and seen any and everybody
Every single grave except her own
For she can not bear it.
But yet she can't feel

There's no happiness
There's no envy
She sees people living and loving
But with a poker face, she stares at me

But my emotions are not gone
And the pain she yearns to feel embodies in me
As if life has been taken from her and now resides in me
But I still feel lifeless
(This isn't about me...
It's about my nameless friend.)

I want to reach out to comfort her
and she doesn't even know she needs it
This **** ghost that finds comfort in my room
Haunts me forever
ironically enough
But I can't reach out to her and I can barely hear her
Her voice is a whisper
Even when she yells
(She should be glad she doesn't have a real throat since she yells so much)

"I know!"
she cries.
"I know you hear me!"

I can't answer that anymore.
I need to tune her out to escape my turmoil.

Shifting shades that lack precision,
eye evading, vaporous vision,
fleeting flickers underexpose
ghostly glimpses that discompose.

Shadows speak in trembling tones,
mumbled murmurs, cackling crones,
bated breath while overcoming
stifled screams but not succumbing.

Befrozen blood stills hammering heart,
senses separate, perceptions part,
lost lucidity brings indecision
face or flee this spectrovision.

Shuddering skin turns pearlest pale,
hairs horripilate, portents prevail,
cold creeps craze a mind affrighted
spooky spectres come uninvited

The weather has gone back
To pretending to be a tsunami
And my heads filled up
By all the grey clouds
It's not that bad, though
Because the magnets on my fridge
Keep spelling out love letters
The taps on my wall
Are to the tune of
I'm in love with you
And all the voices in my head
Want me hitched, not dead
The shadow in the corner
Is down on one knee
And the Grim Reaper
Keeps bringing me bouquets
So who needs a girlfriend
When the undead wants me?