In the forest dark and deep.
Something terrifying this way creeps.
Hold your breath, don't make a sound.
Shuffling feet upon the ground.
For the dead, rest can't be found.
Bodies litter the moss covered ground.
All in shallow graves under mounds of decay.
The sounds echo from all around.
The shovel strikes the ground.
This is his playground.
The sick twisted game he plays.
Watching his prey by day.
Killing in the shadows of night.
Blood does spill, taken against their will.
Now they lay limp and still.
He thinks he is invincible, never to be found.
His twisted theories of human trophy's scattered around.
Shallow graves, mounds of soil surrounded him.
One escaped, she clings to life hidden within the trees.
collapsing to her knees.
Dirt and leafs mat her hair.
Nails blooded and broken from clawing from her grave.
She watches him from near by.
Hastily she ran, tears mingle with her blood.
Her shaking hand clamped over her mouth.
Muted sobs of fear.
His twisted grin as he looks down at the body at his feet.
All a sick game.
He seeks his moment of fame.
The news speaks of the killer.
Labeled the midnight dove.
He takes girls all the same age.
It's the kill he loves.
His untamed rage feeds his insanity.
Leaving only a trail of dead with his symbol of a dove carved in their skin.
Their hair brushed back from their heads and a black X on each eyelid.
All died at the strike of midnight.
Three posed and set out for all to see.
The rest he chose to hide away.
In shallow graves they stay.
She sits terribly frightened, buying her time to escape.
The only one that survived the grisly fate.
She alone can bring down the midnight dove.
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Self Made Poetry 2
PoetryMy self written poetry, of different varieties. All writing is original, artwork is not mine.
