Ominous stares,
They trail me as I go up the stairs,
I cloak my fear,
Or I’d be pulled into the night’s lair.
Tense encounters pervade nightfall,
I walk through the eerie hall,
I hear venomous verses,
The mirror reflects creepy tenses.
I hear a swarming noise,
Followed by a hoarse voice,
My mind is in turmoil,
I journey on a tempestuous toil.
The night calls the vulnerable,
The uncanny trails the unstable,
I cocoon myself from its tendrils,
I’m bordered by hopeful frills.
Thompson Emate spends his leisure time on creative writing, particularly poetry and prose.