She stops and stares and sniffs the moonlit air
A morbid oppression envelopes her bristling fur
Statuesque in the scrub of the god forsaken wood
Trepidation overwhelms her in a tsunamic flood
Cracked glass refracts back a moon malevolently bold
Chilling to the core, as her blood runs cold

A crumbling facade, winsome in days of yore
Sullen windows surround a rotten double door
The fetid legacy of a once beguiling lodge
The sad epitaph of an abandonment bodge

Below the perilous canopy of a full moon night
The cloying undergrowth is seductively tight
As she steps away from its withering crush
The melancholic windows start to blush

In the dark on every rafter
They listen to the distant laughter
Knowing the time is nigh to stir
From the roost of their attic lair

The charisma of the gleaming brings her close to a swoon
As the lodge calls out under a blood red moon
Drawing her in to bear witness to a haunting
Reality is tenuous, with insanity daunting
Up stone steps to a decrepit double door
Enticingly ajar, beyond which skulks a sullied floor
She smells the mania, as she tastes the ire
As within the walls delirium rages like a fire
The cold is intimate and utterly pervading
Down a staircase a blushing lightfall's cascading
An unearthly, translucent, figure is halfway down
In full dress uniform, white hair on his crown
From the macabre insanity she turns to dash
As a blood red moon shines down its angry rash
Panic stricken, far from cunning, more callow
She flees from the horror without recourse to hallow

They've abandoned every rafter
To escape the heinous laughter
Knowing the time was nigh to stir
From the roost of their attic lair

Beyond his passing they first appeared, the others
But none were the shades of sisters or brothers
Now in a crimson aura divorced from all the faiths
He feels the presence of the phantoms and the wraiths
Their abject hysteria hideously appalling
So many vagrant souls agonizingly squalling
Meandering down stairs and along a sullied floor
He knows the time is nigh to share the spectral lore
The blushing moon is in fractured window panes
And they're all here, the wretched souls of wandering manes
He's blessed with the mania and consumed with the ire
As within the walls delirium rages like a fire
The impoverished dead foment under a blood red moon
A spectral melange writhing in the crimson doom
Echoes of the past, broken men and wizened ladies
Drifting and cackling, trapped in a perfect Hades

In the gloom on every rafter
They no longer hear any laughter
A time to rest, no need to stir
In the roost of their attic lair

With dawn's counter glow adjacent and massed
Through the undergrowth of the wood she quickly passed
Its jealous embrace no match against her frantic rush
As soulless black windows gazed in a melancholic hush

To wrack and ruin, from days of awe
Cracked windows surround a rotten double door
The fetid legacy of a once beguiling lodge
The sad epitaph of an abandonment bodge

She stops and stares and sniffs the sunlit air
A silky dew envelopes her smooth red fur
Safely ensconced beyond the the god forsaken wood
Certitude courses through her in a tsunamic flood
The sun warms her, not a minute too soon
Killing the memories of a blood red moon