Grave Images, Vol. I Page 2

  Can one closet hold?

  Far too many

  That go untold!

  And if they are freed,

  What happens then?

  Will they be back

  To taunt once again?

  Sometimes their voices

  Can drive one insane,

  Always threatening

  And placing blame.

  So if you should hear noises

  Or voices that shout,

  It could be your skeletons

  Trying to get out!

  We hadn’t lived here long,

  When out of the corner of my eye,

  Were these very dark shadows

  That would quickly dart by.

  Thinking it was mice,

  Traps were set throughout our home.

  But this wasn’t anything natural;

  This was something unknown.

  You can think it’s one’s mind

  Just playing tricks,

  But when others witness this,

  The puzzle begins to fit.

  This shadow figure

  Had come from the closet into my room;

  The atmosphere changed

  To one of sadness and doom.

  It started to speak about

  When it had died,

  And in the crawl space upstairs

  Is where it now hides.

  Its tone was like an animal,

  If animals could talk.

  Unbearable to hear—

  I wanted it to stop!

  A darkness so obscure

  It moves one to tears;

  It creates negativity

  And thrives on fear.

  Imitating loved ones

  In order to disarm,

  To gain one’s trust

  And do real harm.

  Leaving us drained

  Of all energy,

  And taking away more

  Than one can visibly see.

  A residual haunting

  That stays behind,

  Reliving itself

  Over a long period of time.

  We were advised to spiritually cleanse our home

  By praying and having faith,

  Because choosing to ignore it

  Would only make it stay.

  Whether it was brought upon you

  Or you brought upon it,

  It can attach itself to you,

  And there it will sit.

  Whatever lives

  In the crawl space upstairs,

  Now waits for a challenge

  For anyone that dares!

  I came to know

  A wicked old troll,

  Who grants wishes

  For the price of souls.

  Be careful what you wish for,

  Because you just might get

  Something later on

  You’ll live to regret.

  This troll named Urchin

  Lives in a well,

  Where many like him

  Live and dwell.

  Urchin comes off

  As very charming,

  But if he doesn’t get his way

  It can be quite alarming!

  Don’t be fooled

  By his small frame,

  He’s stronger than he looks

  And can cause great pain.

  Pretending to be harmless

  And in distress,

  Hoping to capture

  His next conquest.

  Walking by this

  dried up well,

  Is where I first

  heard it yell.

  Disguising its voice

  Like that of a child,

  Then propping himself up

  With a wink and a smile.

   

  He suddenly jumped out,

  Reaching for me,

  His odd little face

  Was all I could see.

  I was then thrown down

  On the damp, cool grass,

  While he stood over me

  And begun to harass.

  Insisting that I

  Make a wish

  While doubling up

  His dirty fist.

  Not wanting a wish granted

  For the price of my soul,

  I said, “No thanks, and no way!”

  To this relentless little troll.

  Very smug,

  He looked at me, saying,

  “You’ll be back,

  Just wait and see.”

  And as he left,

  He loudly exclaimed,

  “I grant many wishes

  For each soul that I claim!”

  There are lots of nice neighborhoods

  With manicured lawns,

  Until the night creeps come out

  And something goes wrong.

  Some of those people

  Then show their true face,

  As they snatch up each victim

  Without any haste.

  These night creeps eat flesh

  With their gossip and lies,

  As they leave one shattered

  And left to die.

  Their insults, like a knife

  That cuts right through,

  Believing to be righteous

  In all that they do.

  Talk about the kettle,

  Calling the pot black;

  If they looked in the mirror,

  It would surely crack!

  Worshipping something

  They think to be God—

  Nothing genuine,

  Only fraud!

  Night creeps don’t come

  From just bad neighborhoods,

  But from all walks of life—

  Let that be understood.

  Like reptiles

  That live among themselves,

  With no humanity

  For anyone else.

  They recognize those

  That are just like them,

  Excluding all others

  That don’t fit in.

  They are perfectly possessed

  And difficult to see,

  For they look a lot

  Like you and me!

  There are grave images

  In my mind.

  I see and hear them

  All the time.

  A seer of souls

  Is what I am,

  Watching those crossover,

  Time and again.

  Some say it’s a gift,

  Some a curse;

  It’s hard to say

  Which is worse.

  Living with this

  Since I was a child,

  And masking the fear

  With a smile.

  These grave images

  I don’t ask to see,

  Coming around

  Unexpectedly. 

  Imagine spirits

  That won’t go away,

  Who impose on one,

  Night or day.

  It’s such a distraction

  When they appear to me

  In front of those

  Who cannot see.

  Hoping they go

  Into the light,

  While others would rather

  Stay and fight.

  This is something

  I’ll never embrace,

  And I will do my best

  To try and erase.

  And if back then

  I was to explain,

  Most would’ve thought

  I was insane.

  I’ve learned to deal with this

  More cautiously—

  These grave images,

  I don’t want to see!

  There once was a bride

  And a groom

  Who lived inside

  A great big tomb.

  Mummified together,

  Joined for life,

  For better or worse—

  Now man and wife.

  Wrapped in cloth

  Like strips of long tape,

  Leaving
their tomb

  For a romantic escape.

  Arms outstretched,

  As if to walk in their sleep,

  Frightening many

  As they roamed the streets.

  There was a festival in town,

  Along with a costume ball,

  Where no one suspected

  Or took notice at all.

  Gaping holes

  Made from moths,

  Leaving eyes to peer out

  Through strips of cloth,

  Stiff in movements,

  Yet painting the town,

  It’d been so long

  Since they’d gotten around.

  Venturing out

  And taking a chance,

  Yet coming unraveled

  As they tried to dance.

  They didn’t return

  Till the next day at noon,

  Yet glad to be back

  Inside the old tomb.

  Now tired and ready

  For another long rest—

  Preparing ahead

  For the next big fest.

  On the days and nights

  Filled with fog,

  Out comes the malevolent

  Big black dog.

  This phantom Great Dane,

  With eyes like glass,

  Who comes in a fury

  To bring forth his wrath.

  For those that call him

  To do their bidding,

  By seeking harm

  Among the living.

  He appears in many places,

  Making his rounds,

  Giving a warning

  With deep, growling sounds.

  Bigger than life,

  This hound from the grave,

  Who comes to devour

  Those that he craves.

  I saw this Great Dane

  Trotting on by,

  With a look of fury

  In those stone cold eyes!

  Then in a whirl

  He spins around—

  Spiraling downward

  Into the ground.

  With a smell of sulfur

  Strong in the air—

  This omen of evil

  That once stood there.

  It is said it returns

  To the bottomless pit,

  A blazing inferno

  That’s brightly lit.

  And if it should ever

  Catch up to me,

  Will it bring another

  Stronger than he?

  And so I fear

  The mysterious fog,

  And those who summon

  The infernal dog.

  Mr. McNasty is a spirit

  That’s destined to roam.

  He sneaks up unexpectedly

  When you are all alone.

  With a twisted sense of humor

  That will almost stop your heart,

  He knows your greatest fear

  And in your soul he leaves his mark.

  It started when he was young,

  Long before he died,

  He would follow kids home from school

  And in their houses, he would hide.

  He would wait until everyone

  Was deep and fast asleep,

  And then yank them off their beds

  By the heels of their feet.

  He would make a clean break

  With no one knowing who or what had been there,

  Leaving them shook-up and confused,

  And in total and complete terror.

  And as an older man

  He offered to babysit for free,

  The parents unaware

  Of the tyrant he could be.

  The children he babysat that day

  Were never to be seen again.

  And he was put away in a sanatorium

  Where his life came to an end.

  And what happened to the children?

  Their whereabouts he never did confess.

  And now he’s a restless ghost

  Whose conscience cannot rest.

  Now he’s been known to haunt

  Those that are a lot like him;

  And it’s that bad behavior

  Which always invites him in.

  Yes, Old Man McNasty

  Still makes his presence known.

  He waits until it’s quiet

  And you are all alone!

  A monster was set loose

  A long time ago,

  Creating more like him

  So everyone would know,

  That bigotry and ignorance,

  Iniquity and hate,

  Go hand in hand

  And carry a huge weight.

  By discriminating against those

  Different from itself,

  Fueled by hatred and

  Nothing else.

  Spreading its venom

  Like wildfire,

  Recruiting others

  To hurt and conspire.

  This horrible monster

  That grew and grew,

  That once enslaved

  And was allowed to rule.

  Always driven by

  Race and creed,

  Who plants its poison

  And nurtures its seed.

  It surfaces more often

  Than one may think,

  Pushing its victims

  Beyond the brink,

  Of the hurt and pain

  Of being singled out,

  Leaving one to question

  What life is all about.

  Sometimes hiding

  Behind a hooded sheet,

  While foaming at the mouth

  And baring its teeth.

  Bitter about the outcome

  Of freedom for all,

  This man-eating monster

  Was bound to fall.

  Defeated by those

  It tried to oppress,

  Yet relentless and angry

  And left in distress.

  To live in such anger

  All of the time—

  But what peace does prejudice

  Ever find?

  They said the house was theirs,

  Though it’s always been mine,

  For I’ve lived here always—

  For such a long time.

  Still they insist on making

  Themselves at home

  By invading my privacy,

  In which they won’t leave me alone.

  Religious ceremonies performed

  Throughout my house,

  Stating once and for all

  For me to get out!

  It’s their turn now,

  So they say.

  “Move on with the others,

  You cannot stay!”

  I ask them why

  They stubbornly remain;

  Have they no decency

  Or any ounce of shame?

  “This is our house,”

  They loudly exclaimed,

  “You no longer have rights

  To stake any claim!”

  They went on to say

  That I had died,

  And that this house belongs

  To those still alive.

  I can honestly say

  I did not know

  That this was the reason

  I had to go.

  “Leave quickly,” they said,

  “For it’s way past time,

  Because what used to be yours,

  Now is mine.”

  Sharon had rented a new apartment

  And was looking all around,

  When she came across an item

  That was lying on the ground.

  It had beads and feathers

  Based on a wooden hoop,

  With a green-knitted net

  Woven into a loop.

  It had been a charm

  To ward off bad dreams,

  To get rid of night terrors,

  And good luck it would bring.

  And only the good dreams

&n
bsp; Would be able to filter through,

  Making it sometimes possible

  For these dreams to come true.

  But little did she realize

  That this dream catcher was on overload

  From the nightmares of previous tenants,

  Now ready to unload.

  Admiring this decoration,

  That was suspended from a string of yarn,

  Would soon cause sleepless nights

  And only do her harm.

  Not knowing one should never

  Keep a dream catcher that’s been used,

  Because of what’s been snared in it

  Can now seep through.

  Sharon kept this charm

  And hung it on the ceiling.

  That night she had horrible dreams

  That left her mind reeling.

  Every single night,

  A different night terror

  Left her exhausted

  And feeling such despair.

  She was dreaming of hooded figures

  Surrounding her bed,

  Applying heavy pressure

  To the back of her head;

  Then an old hag

  That would creep in the night,

  Holding her in a chokehold

  And squeezing very tight;

  And then a giant spider

  Chasing her down,

  Falling in its web

  And unable to make a sound.

  Fed up and frightened,

  She went where these charms were sold,

  And was advised how to dispose

  Of the one that was old.

  Not really wanting another one,

  Though this new one had been blessed,

  Sharon’s dreams were normal now

  And she finally got some rest.

  And if you should come across a dream catcher

  Make sure it’s not used,

  Or someone else’s nightmares

  Will come upon you.

  He met she on line

  While surfing the internet.

  They decided to meet in person,

  And so the date was set.

  Still they continued to chat

  Until that special time,

  And both referred to the other

  As being mighty fine.

  They sent photos

  Back and forth,

  While letting nature

  Take its course—

  Excited and nervous,

  Yet pleasantly surprised,

  When that special moment

  Had finally arrived.

  They both met for dinner and dancing—

  Such a romantic atmosphere.

  They slow danced to the music

  While he whispered in her ear.