Camp Greenwood

A summer’s day at Camp Greenwood,
where laughter rang as childhood stood,
but beneath the cheerful, sunny skies,
a dark and deadly secret lies.

A killer stalks with silent stride,
a blade that flashes in the night,
and in the shadows campers hide,
but none escape the slasher’s sight.

Blood-red footprints mark the way,
a path of horror through the fray,
where joy once filled the forest air,
now echoes only cries of despair,
each mark a life abruptly done
beneath the moon’s gaze, pale and profound.

Beware the night at Camp Greenwood,
where shadows shift in the wood.
A killer’s rage knows no end,
a story that time cannot bend.

The blood trail turns to dust.
In the heart of Camp Greenwood’s night,
no one lives to see the light.

The morning comes with eerie calm,
a ghostly psalm, no joyous shout,
just echoes of what’s been about.
The bloody trail remains a scar
upon the land where horrors are.