The Haunted Church where spirits call

The Haunted Church where spirits call

The haunted church bells rang at night,

A hollow sound, a chilling bite.

The wind crept through the broken stone,

And whispered secrets long unknown.

The moon hung low, a silver eye,

Watching shadows slipping by.

The graves stood silent, cold and deep,

Where restless souls refuse to sleep.

A rusted gate swung slow and wide,

As if the dark had stepped inside.

The echoes danced along the walls,

Like distant footsteps in the halls.

A lonely crow called through the gloom,

Its voice as sharp as silent doom.

The air grew heavy, thick with dread,

As midnight claimed the living’s thread.

The candle flames began to sway,

Though not a breath had passed their way.

And on the altar, cracked and bare,

A frozen chill hung in the air.

The clock struck one, then two, then three,

Each note a silent elegy.

The night was long, the stars were few,

And every sound a ghostly clue.

Yet when the dawn’s first light did show,

The bells stood still, no more to crow.

The haunted church, so cold and grim,

Sank back into the morning dim.

All those who heard the midnight chime,

Would speak no more of that dark time.

Halloween over for another year at last

By a new dawn break it’s all in the past.