Ghostly shadows dance,
Pumpkins grin with wicked glee,
Autumn night whispers.

N.P.: “Monsters” – The Cruxshadows

In the moon’s cold and silvery glow,
A figure stirs in shadows below.
With eyes like coals, it prowls the night,
A specter born of endless fright.

Cloaked in darkness, it silently creeps,
Through misty woods where the night wind weeps,
Its fangs gleam sharp, a predator’s grin,
As it hunts for the life that sustains its sin.

Behind closed curtains, hearts quicken with dread,
For the vampire’s thirst is far from fed.
It whispers softly through creaking doors,
A chilling promise of blood and gore.

The village shivers beneath starlit skies,
Where once calm dreams now harbor cries.
A shadowy wraith with a timeless stare,
The vampire’s touch a silent snare.

In gothic halls where candles flicker,
Its presence lingers, the air grows thicker.
With every heartbeat, terror spreads,
In its wake, only cold and lifeless beds.

Beware the moon when it rides high,
Casting its gaze on the midnight sky.
For in its glow, the vampire roams,
To claim the night as its eternal home.

N.P.: “Vampires” – Night Club

N.P.: “Human Fly” – Leæther Strip

In the heart of the night, where silence reigns,
A phantom shadow breaks its chains.
The wind whispers secrets, cold and bleak,
As moonlight shivers upon the creek.
An ancient tree, with roots like veins,
Holds tales of sorrow and ghostly pains.
A lantern flickers on the winding path,
Casting ghostly figures in its wrath.
A chilling cry splits the still, dense air,
From lips unseen, a ghostly prayer.
A figure cloaked in midnight’s shroud,
Moves silently beneath the cloud.
Eyes of darkness, void and deep,
Guard the secrets shadows keep.

N.P.: “The Gypsy Theme” – Slash

And now, a haiku:

Some days life just sucks. 
But then I think about you.
And that makes it worse. 

N.P.: “‘I Know’ [MIXED]” – Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, Boys Noize

In the twilight moments of our spinning sphere,
Where the cosmic clock ticks, end drawing near.
The sun, a fiery orb, blinks its final goodbye,
As the stars whisper secrets to the midnight sky.

A world once teeming, now silent and cold,
A tale of destruction, in hushed voices told.
The cities lie empty, a ghostly parade,
Monuments to tolerance, in decay displayed.

The machines of progress, rusted and still
Abandoned by their makers, and their loss of will.
The nation’s canvas, once vibrant and bold,
Now a barren wasteland, a story told.

Yet in this desolation, a beauty surreal,
As if time has stopped, in a final ordeal.
An eerie tranquility blankets the land,
A testament to a cycle we couldn’t withstand.

The oceans are mirrors, reflecting the void,
Where life once flourished, now asteroid.
The mountains stand proud, their majesty remains,
Silent sentinels over desolate plains.

A haunting symphony of the end plays,
In the hollow echoes of forgotten days.
Yet in this silence, a truth unfurls,
The end is no gateway to other worlds.

The Poet once said, in his wisdom profound,
“The aim of life is death, the roundabout bound.”
So too, the world, in its final dance,
Embraces the end, not by chance.

So here lies the world, in its final repose,
In the grand opera of existence, the final doze.
So pray, dear traveler, as you wander the stars,
Every end is a beginning, no matter the scars.

N.P.: “Funeral March” – 2WEI