*Written for day 10 of the PAD challenge. Prompt: "horror."
"the stealthy hand of midnight
wraps round her neck as she
thinks upon the flower pressed
between the leaves of the
book he gave her, so many
years ago, and on the
promise made to her, that
night: that he would
return, in spirit form, and
have her for his own......"
so the page read, as she
switched off the light and
went to her bed, dreaming of
the visions a dark night
(and an over-active mind)
could conjure up, some
horror of the less than living,
the frankly dead, to
come, sit by our side,
bide awhile with one
her lost love, the pale
youth, spouting the poetry
of lies so attractive to
hear, in a clutched embrace,
falling back to the ragged earth
before he must return to his tomb,
some miles hence, and the
chilly folds of his winding sheet
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