UNEARTHED

I don’t believe in ghosts,

I say it again
then glance at the moon
through twisted trees,

crooked branches
cast eerie shadows,
flitting, floating,
fooling my senses,

an owl’s shriek cuts the night,
bats zoom by in darkened flight,

shapes rise up
unearthed, set free,

I’m frozen, alone,
afraid to scream,

figures draw near,
then an icy whisper in my ear:

‘come follow us to a secret place
where humans keep our spirits fed,
you shouldn’t fear what lies ahead.’

I fight for my life
then slip away,
I shiver and shake
’til dawn the next day,

I now sleep nights
with sheets pulled tight,
a light beside my bed,
lest figures find their way inside
to whisk my soul away.

Photo by Lisa Berg