Posted in poetry

The Lady in White

There is a place called Crimson Peak.
A house where no one dares to speak.
Behind those fabled walls
Lives a silent feeble call.
Who weeps a simple plea
While taking lives as a victory fee.
Each night a new victim’s cries do shrieks,
but the townspeople know better than to seek
The Woman, who wanders within those halls.

Carelessly roaming, while staying small.
But, beastly is she
The woman in white is a banshee.
Blood curdling her her cries
leaving you paralyzed.
She cries for what she mourns.
Her freedom the one thing she yearns.
Forever doomed to exist
stuck in a black void abyss.

Many have met their fatal demise
while falling for her glamorized disguised
taking on a new face barely worn.
But, don’t say you’ve never been warned.
For those who persist
I do suggest you resist
and do not speak of Crimson Peak for fear of the Lady in White.

©Alissa Vreeland, 2017.



An aspiring author. I love to write poems and short stories.

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