L.S. Strange
We lived in a haunted house for twenty-seven years and experienced many supernatural events. This is a chronicle of our encounters, not a work of fiction.
Thinking this would be our dream house we learned that some dreams are nightmares. The following poem was inspired by our encounters.
A
A
A VOICE FROM BEYOND
Wicked is my life and twisting upwards at the sky.
Dark and dim a growing figure lurks behind these eyes.
I have seen the man of pain whose blood drips in his head.
Powerful and cunning stands his body drenched in red.
Spinning now my head is numb from being kicked in two.
Looking two directions skies of gray and then of blue.
Now I'm losing vision as my pupils fill with rain.
Will I lay today and die out here in this terrain?
Feels like all my veins are empty. Does my heart still pound?
Where's my hearing or my voice? I have no words or sound.
Not so painful as I thought.
It's over now. I'm gone.
Get back to your foolish lives. It's time to carry on.
