Wounded Hill

A work in pregress

  Wounded Hill

 

Darnkness Befalls a quiet little town
the air is thick and still
angry spirits gathered that night
in a cemetery called wounded hill

They were awoken from their eternal rest
from a voice as old as time
some one found the ancient book
then spoke the sacred rhyme

These words were never to be spoken
nor heard by man or beast
For they were words of retribution
summoning demons to the feast

So to wounded hill they came
these vengeful spirits from hell
waiting for their master
the one who spoke the spell

And so they wait...

Reviews

[K]

The rhythm created by the rhyme scheme in this poem is really nice, and the descriptive words add to the overall feel and tone of the poem. great job!