So, this spider was crawling up the wall,
The wall, which had its cosmetics coming off.
The wall, which was mum.
It had seen much.
I was there, under this cursed ceiling fan,
Which was creaking monotonously.
The portraits and the tapestries,
With the rusted nails and hooks under.
The sedimentation of soot,
On the walls,
On the ceiling,
And on the pictures.
All silent,
Dead silent,
Except this cursed ceiling fan.
The ambience,
Was in its nothingness.
As if, they were looking at me in awe,
As if, I were a trespasser.
Unanticipated, I heard rumblings,
And chantings,
And phrases.
The wind in the room suddenly came to life.
The Air, spoke something into my ears,
Something unintelligible.
The frequency went up,
And up, and up.
Ultrasonic vibrations, were those.
The portraits glared at me,
I was becoming anxious,
As well as having eerie feels.
My eyes glued on something,
Something creepy.
I remember,
How four score and seven revolutions of this planet back,
My 16 year old friend had perished in this very room,
Under this very cursed ceiling fan.
Now, not everyone can live for a hundred and three years,
And remember an incident.
Oh, and yes, my eyes glued on my own portrait...

...We do exist,
We defy science.

Through the morning fog
I couldn’t make out your face
An eerie silhouette, facing me
snap
snap
Twigs under your feet
Shivers up my spine with each step
closer
closer
Come nearer, dear
Vague is the memory
But it haunts me still
Your breath against the chilling air
An outline, moving but not approaching

oh.

To my dismay, you were walking
In the other direction.

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.

The boy who i knew years ago;
Who turned out to be my foe.

Watching me like a perv;
Only an insult i will serve.

I hope he understands the pain he gave not to lightly;
Cause the love i feel for him is only slightly.

I just want to be free and be only friends;
Before our life shortly ends.

Serenity lurks at the grave
With a pale face
And silver eyes
She breathes slowly

She walks with assurance
Confident of the outcome
Aware that though darkness lies ahead
At least she knows it is there

Serenity will not be caught off guard
By any disturbance
She understands then
She knows now
She accepts later

She sometimes sings a song
Or dances a simple dance
Passers by ignore the activity
Too busy to notice her

If you want to find Serenity
It would not be difficult
She waits for all
At the grave of Worry

There's something strange about him,
it's sorta hard to place,
but his smile is much too wide,
as it sits upon his face.

I used to think about it,
as I laid down in my bed,
but maybe, just maybe,
it was only in my head.

Yet others seemed to notice,
the awkward, unsettled glare,
and I too became conscious,
there's a little bit more there.

I took a breath, walked away,
but digging in my back,
were his eyes and eerie smile,
plotting its attack.

I should have known he was no good,
not for me at least,
he always seemed a bit unhinged,
some say a mighty beast.

He disappeared, for years it seemed,
no eyes, no smirks, no laughs,
but when he returned to me, he said,
he hadn't done so on my behalf.

There was something strange about him,
it was sorta hard to place,
but his smile was much too wide,
as it sat upon his face.

The earth trembles,
Trees shake from their vary roots,
A flash cuts through the sky,
Wind carries a grunt of god, himself.

Children crying,
Dogs barking,
Sound can be heard from every direction,
White as paper is everyone's complexion.

Silence follows,
An eerie feeling sets in,
Waiting for another,
Listening carefully.

Is it the end?
Or shall it continue?
Can people finely rest?
Or are we forever doomed?