We are part of The Trust Project.
The wind blows softly at first
Leaves quietly rustle
Could it be the harbinger
Of impending sinister trouble
The wood is gray and black
Sunset stole all color
At twilight changes come
One’s senses become duller
As the wind picks up
The limbs begin to creak
Like a ghost in the dark
That has no words to speak
Somewhere in the thicket
A sudden loud shriek
Is it just an owl
Or possibly a banshee
All the night through
Sounds and shadows bring dread
Some belong to the living
A few may belong to the undead
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If you dare to walk at night
Your trail becomes more daunting
Somewhere in the deep, dark tangle
May lurk an ominous haunting
So, venture out at night
But be advised, beware
In a sunless, haunted wood
There’s plenty to give you a scare
Bob Vogt is a life-long Rochester resident. He is retired after a career in advertising.
The Post Bulletin publishes poetry by local and area writers every Tuesday. Send poems to life@postbulletin.com with the subject line "Poetry submission."
