There was once a castle in Cornwall
its stones lain upon earth
where souls of thousand years before
lived and died in their huts of mystical beliefs.
Black magic, sorcery and evil cling to its legendary air,
but even without their powers
the spirit of John Militon who restored it in the fifteen hundreds,
was consumed more with darkness than light.
Hands that claimed its walls as home
imbued so often in the climate radiating with biting chills,
being a refrigeration's ambience for icicles,
which form on the spine
when skeptics stroll is creepy corridors,
one howl, one transparent specter passing through the walls,
is enough to despoil the doubt in any mind.
As panoplies of paranormal phenomena
scrapes in lightning jolts across the mind,
a door in the castle revolves between earth and afterlife
where ghosts and phantoms travel
in their ectoplasm expressions.
Brain surges in volt of reason
to charge the sights with logic,
but the invisible keepers of Pengersick Castle
play the heart string violin with an eerie bow
its song replayed in a frightening, gut wrenching serenade,
unforgettable as fingernails drugged down a chalkboard.
Silver trophy winner
Adding your comment:
Theresa
This is an intriguing write that allows the reader to almost experience these events as you presented them. Thanks for this entry and good luck!
~ Desire~*~
What a read!!! This is beyond words. Not many leave me speechless, but this one sure did! I don't write like this because they are a bit hard for me, but this is fantastic!!
