Untitled Writing
The legend of Highgate Cemetery. (A true story)
Fear the shadows within the gloom,
As silence pervades the ancient tombs;
Dread the darkness within the dark,
Deafened by thrumming of a trembling heart.
A popular site for Victorian deceased,
Abandoned now to the undead beast;
A figure in black said to haunt the stones,
Of Highgate Cemetery, gnawing their bones.
With eyes that glow unearthly red,
And stench that says he should be dead;
He watches for travellers passing the gate,
Beneath the darkened walls he'll wait.
Two lovers strolled one fateful night,
Along Swain's Lane in pale moonlight;
Believing that they were soon to be wed,
They had no thoughts of "Evil Dead."
Abruptly aware of the interloper,
A figure like one described by Bram Stoker;
In frozen horror they could only stare,
At the ruby eyes and baleful glare.
Mesmerised by the hideous spectre,
The young man watched as the creature dragged her;
Screaming through the iron gates,
And into the darkness to gruesome fates.
Fired into actions too late to save her,
He ran to the gates with mind aquiver;
Only to find they were padlocked fast,
With iron chain and heavy clasp.
He scaled the wall with a single bound,
On the other side dropped to the ground;
Of his future bride there was no sight,
Nor of her captor in the cold moonlight.
Police were called and a search was conducted,
Among tombs and graves for the girl abducted;
No sign of her ever came to view,
Nothing that is...
...except one shoe.
A poem by Mysteral ©2008
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