The dead stay silent.
It’s supposed to be
the one great constant.
Death comes for all,
rich or poor,
but sometimes the dead
don't get the memo.
The script - they sometimes
forget to follow
and through those lonesome hours
their screams loudly
echo.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Words that are not true
with the ghostly footsteps
that creep through
the darkness behind.
Out of sight, out of mind,
not so true when the sound
of chattering is all that sings
through the night.
Out of sight, out of mind,
not when the night-time
feels so hollow,
not when the sound
of shallow breathing
does follow.
The dead
shouldn't be seen or heard.
They shouldn't walk the earth,
or so we are led to believe,
but sometimes the soul
doesn't want to leave.
It festers in the world
just beneath ours,
caught in the dimensional scars.
of this ripped, torn universe
of shattered hearts.
It lingers
in the corners of eyes,
Where shadows slip by.
Most of the time
you don't notice
the visage floating there,
but other nights
are a waking nightmare.
Thanks for reading
Endless Nightmares out now
300 pages of horror themed poetic storytelliung
Please take a look at my previous collection "Torn Pages"
100+ all new poems not shared here before.
https://tinyurl.com/KCtornpages
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