The Haunted House on the Hill Poem

More about The Haunted House on the Hill Poem

In the dark of the night, when the moon is high,
And the wind is howling like a banshee's cry,
There's a house on the hill, so old and grey,
Where the ghosts of the past come out to play.
The windows are broken, the shutters are bent,
And the roof is caving in, so it seems imminent.
The door creaks open, as if by some spell,
And the spirits inside beckon us to dwell.
We step inside, our hearts full of fear,
And we're greeted by whispers that no one can hear.
The floorboards creak under our feet,
As we make our way through the eerie retreat.
There's a chill in the air, that cuts to the bone,
And we're not alone, as we're not the only ones to roam.
We see shadows moving, as if by their own will,
And we hear strange noises, that give us all a chill.
We try to leave, but the door is now locked,
And we're trapped inside, with no one to call or knock.
The ghosts of the house are now in control,
And we're just pawns, in their game of the soul.
We try to fight, but there's nothing we can do,
And the ghosts of the past, they will pursue.
We're trapped in this house, forevermore,
Our souls to be haunted, on this hill forevermore.