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Leah Iris Mar 2018
I can feel you behind me,
Something breathing still
Against my heartbeat
And the very hairs on my back.

I meet you sometimes
Between the uncertainty
Of my solid skin, and yours
As firm as glass when you’re here.

I dare you to speak
And to break me open
Like a pomegranate spilling
It’s ruby seeds.

Instead, you, full of
Clementine melancholy,
Turn round the edges of the moon
And the sun rises.
Sam Mar 2018
We danced among the tombstones
Verdant ground to kiss our feet
Her hand as cold as winter
My smile from beyond
Tatiana Jul 2017
This beach house is blue
Yet it feels gray.
A sign on the wall points to the ocean
But actually it's pointing to the bay.

The walkway is lined with seashells
That are broken, jagged, and painful.
The front door doesn't even open
The force needed is almost shameful.

The feeling inside the rooms upstairs
Relates to its dark and boxed-in design
The oppressive weight of dead eyes
Watching for one step out of line.

Its uncomfortable and terrifying
Hardly a place for relaxation.
But each gray year we come here
To get more depressed on vacation.
It just feels so heavy. My anxiety worsens greatly when we come to this house and I'm just wondering if it's something in the house that is influencing me a little bit. It's a constant battle to stop feeling so depressed while I'm here.
 © Tatiana
Francie Lynch Jul 2017
I'm waiting with certain trepidation
Assured my reality
Is in for something big.

The eleventh dimension
Can't assuage my dread.
There's something happening,
As big as Dead.

The cellphone's our new Nativity,
Destroying my old myths;
Where's the white salamander hurrying,
Spirits hoovering, aliens lurking,
Hairy bipeds in the forests,
Yetis in the snow.
Nothing soon forthcoming.
It all looks like Alberta.

I can't snap inside the sun,
Nor freeze-frame a revolution;
Or the moment one feels love;
But truth is self-evident.
And the facts are yet to come.

All the best stories,
My life-changing beliefs,
Need one still, a black and white will do;
Til then,
I'll suspend
Disbelief,
And sustain credence,
Close to the dark room.

Then we'll be the Magi,
Bowing, grovelling,
Awed and surprised.
The Nativity: Poem by John Milton decrying the loss of his myths because of the birth of Jesus.
A farmhouse in Iowa
Eight people killed with an ax
The killer never caught
These are just the facts

It happened a hundred years ago
On that fateful night
All killed in there beds
didn't put up a fight

They say the place is haunted
Go there if you dare
My wife and I are ghost hunters
Not easy to scare

We decided to spend the night
No one there but us
What would happen next
I'm reluctant to discuss

Voices of children talking
Are some of the things you'll hear
Objects levitating off the floor
Can give you quite a fear

I'm seeing things
I couldn't believe
Are my eyes
Trying to deceive?

Unseen entity
Tugging on my shirt
Starting to get worried
Don't want to get hurt

Everything I told you
Is honest and true
We spent the night alone there
I wonder would you?
Hannah Gaines May 2016
In the snowy plains,
Upon the icy Russian lands,
Lives a spirit,
Whose soul is full of coldness.

The spirit was a Russian General,
Who commanded an army,
And had a wife and a son,
He loved them both with all of his beating heart.

One day,
There was a terrible blizzard,
And the army was fighting their rivals,
The General gave commands.

He met his demise,
By the raging blizzard,
Frozen to death,
Only feeling the revengeful coldness.

Now he roams the Russian nights,
Making horrifying blizzards,
Not showing any mercy to anyone,
Forever on the Russian snowy plains
Hannah Gaines Apr 2016
Invisible,
Lonely,
Hateful,
Sorrowful.

Most people dont believe them,
Most people do,
It doesn't really matter.

They went to be heard,
But yet they are afraid,
They are forever stuck,
And they can't get out.
Amy Perry Apr 2016
The cemetery was my circus I found
After outgrowing fantasy and the playground.
Golden afternoons in the country after school,
My blood having no resemblance, no ancestors,
To all the Sutton's and Smotherman's and Suddeth's
Who here resided with Tennessee pride. Inside and outside.
The still silence of my childhood cemetery carried an eerie air. I wanted to be here.
The peaceful calm, it called me back,
The king cawing crow, attending in black.
As for any of the lost, perhaps content, Confederate souls,
Who have yet to cross over, lamenting or dozed.
I suspect now, that it was I who startled those ghosts.
My blood, my frequency, my scent of the coast,
Sent from a Union ancestry my vibration still boasts...
How unexpected was I to those Tennessee ghosts.
abp
Eve Estelle Feb 2016
Ancient walls of darkened stone,
They make up this structure brimming with secrets -
Looming large with a heavy air,
Some even say it seems aware,
And the curious are drawn to its storied grounds.

The sun has slid beneath the horizon,
Setting once more upon the mortal day,
To bring forth the allure of the shadows,
To make way for the sibylline night.

Ivy bursts through the cracks in the walls,
As you wander the halls gone silent with time;
Brushed by whispers of heavenly laughter,
And the murmurs of time-lost voices -
Echoes of an era, imprints left in stone.

Mysterious, maddening, enthralling -
These halls tell of a tormented past,
Witness to the events of a bygone life,
And ever since forsaken.

Walk the path trodden black by this fallen soul,
Enter into his courtyard;
A large open space, quiet as the rest,
And scarred by decay.
An eldritch bell adorns the middle,
A bell with no stand, floating free,
Polished silver with an amethyst glow;
From it dangles a chain,
Swaying to and fro.

Pull the chain, ring the bell,
Be spared the pain of the living hell.
Ring the bell, ring the bell,
There's more to see, more to tell.


From the bell, a resounding toll,
Resonant and clear;
A violet haze surrounds your eyes,
And fills you with fear.

The bell was rung, you pulled the chain;
Ignored the heralds, played my game.
Now join them in their timeless pain.


*The bell chimes the midnight chord!
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