Haunted prose poem

Photo by Axel Rouvin

Creaking doors in the attic
Crying like ocean waves
Wind singing through the canopy
As the piano starts to play.

Evil voice moaning lullabies
Heavy footsteps are in sight
Bloody-red eyes in the dark shades
How haunted this world is.

Distorted voice in the closet
Throbbing heartbeat beneath my bed
Scratching sounds of insect’s nails
Knocking down the window pane.

Breathy swishes in the breeze
Witchy cackle overhead
Screaming out through deadly nightmares
Escaping this mysterious spell.

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (3 votes, average: 4.33 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Profile photo of Verliza Gajeles

Verliza Gajeles

Signup / Login to follow the poet.
I graduated high school at Dumaguete City High School, Calindagan Dumaguete City, Philippines. I took up Basic computer literacy last 2009. I love researching stuffs for my own good. I love reading novels and love making poems. I started making poems since I was 18 years old. I only make poems during my free time and during weekends. I love being alone and sometimes I love blended up with nature than ended srewing up with people around me who don't want to try to understand my personality. I have a very short memory of conversations and people around me. And I have the very worst sense of directions. Please visit this link for you to be sure about the information you are looking for. Thank you.https://www.facebook.com/miszxchillprincess.VerlizaGajeles
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

2 Comments on "Haunted"

Notify of
Sort by:   newest | oldest
Geetha Paniker

Beautiful written…could visualize it….


The Un-haunted House

The Un haunted House short poem

The cook was in the kitchen The gardener trimming vines I went down to the cellar To fetch a case of wine I came back to the parlor And much to my surprise There stood Master Pennbrook Right before my

Haunted House

Haunted House short poem

A home full of poltergeists doesn’t sleep. Lights turn on, off, bulbs blow, glass Like shrapnel shreds soles until swept up. But the linoleum stays stained and the stains Shift and fade to resemble faces, fade again. Leaving only the