Deathly Hallow



A tale unfolds, of somber spells.

A haunted poem, veiled in dread,

Of death's embrace, where spirits tread.

Through ghostly mist and moonlit gloom,

Echoes whisper of an ancient tomb.

Where specters wander, lost and forlorn,

In realms unseen, where souls are torn.

Beneath the stars, where night holds sway,

The specter of death casts its gray.

A solemn dance, macabre and grand,

In realms untouched by mortal hand.

A mourner's dirge, a mournful cry,

Resounds in echoes, piercing the sky.

Whispers of the departed, voices cold,

Their stories of demise, forever told.

In every breath, a chill descends,

As life's frail thread, abruptly ends.

The Reaper's scythe, swift and severe,

Claiming souls, both far and near.

In moonlit graveyards, shadows creep,

Where restless spirits yearn for sleep.

Their ethereal presence, lingering yet,

In whispered echoes, we can't forget.

Each tombstone stands, a solemn token,

Of lives once lived, abruptly broken.

Beneath the soil, where darkness lies,

The essence of mortality slowly dies.

So, heed this tale, as shadows weep,

For life's sweet moments, we must keep.

Embrace the living, while still you can,

For death's haunting touch awaits each man.

In haunted verses, this tale is spun,

Of death's embrace, when life is done.

A ghostly reminder, with every breath,

That even in death, there's beauty in death.