Ghosts on the hillside; whispering to me,
Watching and waiting, for me in the dark,
Angry and frustrated, alone, cold and stark.
Shadows in the dark, never let me be,
Creatures of the night; only I can see.
Watching at my house, waiting in the park.
Waiting, waiting for it to make its mark,
Wish it would let go, wish I could be free.
And all the time, I always hear the screams
Of people I love whom I can't defend.
haunted by never-ending, howling dreams;
And all my life I never did intend.
And in my mind, nothing is what it seems;
I'm plagued by darkness, wish it all could end.
jan 2009
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Them screamsof people can be haunting.