Ghosts of the Night

Man walking in grey Halloween night under big moon with the grim reaper

I am not afraid of the
ghosts of my pasts
of the breath upon my neck
or of the creaking of the masts,
of the wind that never ceases
or the whisper as it lasts,
of the darkness always watching
or the shadow that it casts.

Come close to me like
a body hugs a grave
or how an ocean full of secrets
holds on tightly to a wave,
or how a spirit full of vengeance
haunts the ones we cannot save,
or how the moonlight strokes the entrance
of a doomed and dreaded cave.

Don’t turn away from the
faces in the trees
or the voices in your head
or from the cries and distant pleas,
or the footprints in the mud
or from your breath that starts to freeze,
or the figures wearing hoods
or from the broken bitter breeze.

Let’s bear witness to the
monsters wide awake
that climb down from in the treetops
or that rise up from the lake,
that are neither dead nor living
or that seek a soul to take,
that have teeth and hollow eyes
or that have wicked plans to make.

I am not afraid of the
ghosts of the night
of the candle being blown out
or the world without light,
of the cryptids ever roaming
or the graveyards glowing white,
of the demons and the angels
or their haunted mystic fight.

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