Rising from Below

Rising from Below

From depths beneath, a shiver cold and grim.
The chill of despair seeps through the wooden seams,
a whisper in the dark, a shadowed hymn
that rises from below
and haunts our waking dreams.

In dust and decay the sorrow finds its throne,
a frozen touch from secrets left alone.

In every creak, a voice of anguish groans
as dread climbs up from where the darkness hides.
The heart grows cold as terror’s breath draws near
while hope retreats
to shadows of despair.

Through splintered cracks a cold wind twists and moans,
breathing life into a frost-kissed phantom’s plight,
moving through the rooms with hollow groans,
a chilling wave that swallows up the light.

The frost of anguish rises, unconfined.
It coils around the beams and spreads its gloom,
a creeping cold that poisons the very mind,
claims the warmth,
entombing joy in the tomb.

Each breath becomes a mist of sorrowed air.

Beneath the floorboards, sorrow’s chill pervades,
a shiver in the dark that shrouds the soul.
It seizes dreams and every hope cascades
into a frigid grip
that takes its toll.

The air grows thin where shadows dare to creep
and from beneath the chill spreads its icy reign,
a spectral frost invading restless sleep,
its touch a cruel reminder of our pain.

In the dark recesses where despair is born
the chill climbs up, a harbinger of woe,
grips the heart with icy fingers worn,
and whispers of the grief
that none can know.

From hidden depths, a frozen breath ascends
and to our souls a bitter frost it sends.
A chill of sorrow through the heart is sworn.