The Haunt
In the hollow where the moonlight spills,
A creature stirs on whispering hills.
With wings that span like shadows cast,
It glides through time, a ghost from the past.
Feathers woven from night and fear,
It circles low, drawing near.
A soft rustle, a beckoning sound,
Luring the lost from safe, solid ground.
Eyes like embers, glowing bright,
Reflect the souls that haunt the night.
They shimmer with secrets, dark and deep,
Holding the dreams that once were steep.
As you stand, transfixed, in dread,
You feel its presence, the words unsaid.
A sudden gust, a chilling breeze,
An echo of sorrow that seems to tease.
You chase the shadow, drawn by its flight,
Into the depths of the endless night.
But as you reach for the winged form,
You find your heart begins to warm.
Yet warmth can’t save you from its grip,
As shadows curl and reality slips.
The winged haunt smiles, a cryptic grin,
And you are left with what lies within.
For those who dare to follow its call
Are swallowed whole, forgotten by all.
In the silence, they take to the skies,
Forever bound where the winged haunt lies.
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