So another ghost poem tonight.  I’ve got a serious weakness for gothic and macabre stories.  That’s why I periodically come back to this theme. 

Whatever the case, Enjoy!

The Hanging Tree

A tree stands near a crossroads where,
No hymn was ever sung.
And from it’s branches criminals,
Of long ago were hung.

Their bodies lie in hasty graves,
In this unhallowed ground,
Their spirits cursed to wander here,
Through centuries unbound.

Don’t pass this way on moonless night,
When dark is darker still.
For vengeful wraiths like mist anise,
To work their wicked will.

They’ll lead you on to meet your doom,
Promise your darkest dream.
You’ll think you have it in your grasp,
And then you start to scream.

Most were not evil when they died,
But trapped too long they changed.
Deprived of hope so very long,
Souls warped and minds deranged.

So if you see an ancient tree,
Near crossroads in the night,
I’d not go there choose other roads,
From darkness to the light.

Cheers, Winston