Certain people, in the grip of fear,

in the shadiness of a lessor or greater inclination,

exist as souls who travel belated and seek salvation,

human nature is a reflection clear,

yet lacking crucial instances it tells a tale so dire,

of the descent of man fueled by imagination’s fire.

The world over is a chilling gaze,

when the hermit’s solitude is shaken by the wild woman’s scream,

of men and apparitions, we dream a sleepless haunting dream.

Ghosts linger in the dimming days.

The Xingu River flows on moonless nights, dark and deep,

If you’re coming home leave there the restless spirits that creep.

The Lady’s Maid’s Bell Tolls in dread,

the triumph of night, it shivers here and beyond, in realms vast.

In the long run, the journey, a choice–a pact with shadows cast,

Afterward, the eyes are lingering though dead.

The triumph of Night is ever a relentless plight,

Miss Mary Pask, lost her way in the ghostly night.

As the darkest tales enshroud,

She bewitched, Mr. Jones, by forces unseen,

A pomegranate seed, a curse in bed sheets between,

the whisper of death came hauntingly loud.

And the looking glass reflects the unknown,

All souls entwined, damned, and in sorrow sown.

In your fears are where nightmares feast,

In the lessor or greater inclination,

I guess this is what they call a damned celebration

where terrors never cease.

Part of the title constraint series

In these constraints, I have taken titles of works from different poets and authors (all the same author for each poem) usually consisting of 20-40 titles. My Constraint was to use as many words as possible in their titles to construct a new Poem.