Jack Cohen

A Moonlight Dance

In a moonlit grove, they danced and writhe
an indescribable sight.

"The Ones Who Linger", so they're called
this world's greatest blight.

From the fog they spawned and crawled
though no one knows for sure.

Their ghostly presence corrupts the land
their souls leeched and impure.

Their only goal, a horrid drive
as they roam across the land.

To find the ones who still survive
I know their hunt firsthand.

They claw and cry at locked doors
they beg you "LET ME IN".

In familiar voices of the damned
they wail to you their whims.

A dreadful chorus will beg for help
though you should heed them naught.

For if they catch you, it's your voice
they'll add to their lot.

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