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A Halloween Poem: The Old Haunted Inn
By Tank Baird
October 26, 2011
Are they footsteps
or the settling of this old inn?
And I thought I heard voices
in the hallway again.
It was a challenge of sorts
to sit up for the ghosts
But my eyes grow heavy,
tired of trying to play host
To the party of late spirits
I came certain to see.
Now the hour grows quieter
with no noise from the street.
In this dimly lit room
where heroes have died,
And many a traveler
still weary from his ride
Departed this place
convinced he had seen
A manifested something
that left him no peace.
Apparitions come and melt through the door
Or whisper with cold breath from purgatory’s core,
Your message of misery, your tales of forlorn
From warmth and body and to the other side born.
Now I’ll wander the hallways with the faintest of light
As the portraits of dead people look down with dead eyes,
To the kitchen and the parlor with only the creaking of floors
If the guests only knew what we had in store.
Now a long gaze in the mirror produces nothing to see
For I’ve become the ghost and the ghost becomes me.