Prompt:
In the bleak hollows where shadows breed,
Lies a wretched dirge for the hearts that bleed.
Twisted roots grope the earth so cold,
Cradling the lost souls that stories never told.
Whispers crawl from the gaping maw,
Of yawning graves unbound by law.
The moon hangs heavy, a specter pale,
A witness to the mournful, ghastly tale.
Night's cold fingers, like death's own touch,
Clasp the grieving hearts that bear too much.
Echoes of the damned swirl in the mist,
In a dance of despair too cruel to resist.
Eerie silence, broken by a cry,
The wail of the forsaken, who beg to die.
Their lament is a chilling, relentless sound,
A haunting requiem from the burial ground.
The air, thick with the stench of woe,
Carries the curse of lives laid low.
Restless spirits wander, lost and forlorn,
In eternal twilight, they mourn the morn.
Here, in the heart of darkness deep,
The angels of sorrow silently weep.
The world, uncaring, turns its gaze,
Leaving shadows to embrace the end of days.
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Prompt: "In the bleak hollows where shadows breed,
Lies a wretched dirge for the hearts that bleed.
Twisted roots grope the earth so cold,
Cradling the lost souls that stories never told.
Whispers crawl from the gaping maw,
Of yawning graves unbound by law.
The moon hangs heavy, a specter pale,
A witness to the mournful, ghastly tale.
Night's cold fingers, like death's own touch,
Clasp the grieving hearts that bear too much.
Echoes of the damned swirl in the mist,
In a dance of despair too cruel to resist.
Eerie silence, broken by a cry,
The wail of the forsaken, who beg to die.
Their lament is a chilling, relentless sound,
A haunting requiem from the burial ground.
The air, thick with the stench of woe,
Carries the curse of lives laid low.
Restless spirits wander, lost and forlorn,
In eternal twilight, they mourn the morn.
Here, in the heart of darkness deep,
The angels of sorrow silently weep.
The world, uncaring, turns its gaze,
Leaving shadows to embrace the end of days."
Artist
