This, this thing that captures my view,
it itself freely moves in and through,
the walls, tables, and solid things,
whispers sounding like a child that sings.
The coldness, the chills and thrills that came,
her death no information on her name.
Her face, her face it scares right through,
ghost are myths, they are unreal but true.
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Author:
Maplespal (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 25th, 2026 14:48
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
Offline)
Comments1
A write of ghosts that exist in different forms. Nicely written
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