In the darkness, shadows dance,
Whispers echo, a haunting trance,
A chill in the air, a sense of dread,
As if something lingers, something undead.

Footsteps creak, floorboards groan,
A presence felt, but never shown,
A cold hand brushes by your face,
A vision of horror, no time to brace.

The walls close in, the air turns stale,
A voice in the distance, a mournful wail,
A ghostly figure, a shapeless form,
A memory of evil, a forgotten norm.

A scream escapes, but no one hears,
The horror too much, the mind in tears,
A darkness descends, a pit of despair,
A presence lurking, with eyes that stare.

The horror poem, a tale of fright,
A warning to all, to avoid the night,
For in the shadows, evil hides,
A horror story that no one abides.
© Mobo's Diary