Welcome to the Gloomy Hollows of Spookinite Valley Est. Sept. 2012 Dreams of Disquietude Written by Benjamin Fouché One dull, dark night, I took a stroll, And wandered into a black lull. All seemed perturbed and quite unwell. I strode, stumbled, and nearly fell. Then far off I saw an old dock, Reaching into a lightless loch. On the edge stood a shadowed man, Thus seeking help, to him I ran. Sprinting, I shouted as I neared, But soon lingered something I feared. Alas, as if I were not present, His inert silence—incessant! “Why do you speak not?” I thus cried. He then turned to me dead and sighed. And like a banshee he did scream, I, too, yelled, for this was no dream. Return to Ghostly Poetry Next Poem Previous Poem

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