The Woods Where Children Die

The images we see, no matter how unaffiliated we are to them, sabotage our subconscious and haunt us.

There was a mist,

upon the mountain,

and I saw it,

from the window.

I must resist,

the urge to follow,

the blue lady,

across the meadow.

And if she offers,

a blue rose or hand,

I must decline,

or run as far as I can.

The moth drowns,

in a cup of blood.

I know I saw,

the impending flood.

To look upon her,

and meet her eye,

in the woods,

where children die,

is why the moth,

with its wings undry,

licked off the taste,

of tears gone to waste.

"Shush, child,"

she says to me,

"The children will awaken,

at the strike of three."

To this night,

I hear the grandfather,

cry throughout the house,

and I can hear,

the children inside of him,

giddy to come out.

Author's Note

Imagine a blue lady leading children in the woods to die and if they don't comply, she and the other children haunt them forever.

Reviews

[wordman]

lot of ghost stories around here,you wrote it well