# A Dark Poem, Why not?



## jetskijigsaw84 (Feb 1, 2014)

Carried on the wind, you can hear the howl
Of a distant wolf in the night.
The lonesome hoot of an owl,
All those things cloaked and kept out of sight.

The rattle of bones or a ghostly moan,
Mysterious sounds to fill you with fright.
These things come out well after the sun's last light shone,
When things are not at all bright.

The song of the wind through the trees,
All those things that creak and squeak
The rustle of the fallen leaves,
Those things which are beyond the eye's peek.

The notorious children of the night,
Their dark, foreboding symphony plays,
As spirits rise and stretch and take flight
In the absence of the sun's scorching rays.

It is a time marked with mysticism and magic,
A chilling carnival of lost, displaced souls,
Breaking free of the tomb's mortar and brick.
Free themselves of mortality's grim hold.

The fear, however dear reader, is not in what is shown,
It is in that unseen, questionable concept of the unknown.


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