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Array
(
[sid] => 153256
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Startling Tale Of A Preoccupied Tavern
[time] => 2009-09-15 08:18:18
[hometext] => Inspired by tales of hauntings at The George Hotel in Bewdley, Worcestershire, England.
[bodytext] => Black hole ballroom have you any ghosts, Some say yes sir, the spirits of the hosts. One of the lady and many more inside, And one of the simple boy who died beside his bride. Young Jack hanging, swinging on a rope Some say murder, but maybe he lost hope. Etched on a window, a message from the grave, Written and intended for the souls you couldn’t save. Young boy, wet boy, running through the dark, Had you then been swimming in the park. Or was it just the rain that wet your little head, And did you struggle hard when meeting with the dead. In the coldness of a bedroom Lies the oppressive weight of doom. Death for the unknown, for they that passed this way Leaving only memories for those alive today. Coach house chamber maid will never see tomorrow, Tortured soul wallowing in sorro, The reason for her death fills her full of anger, To those who use her service she remains so bitter. Phantoms haunt showing no repentance, Fear for you with credit card acceptance. Once more a guest can feel the silent guilt Of the spectre of the murderer for those whose blood he spilt. Midnight darkness is the time for haunting Few have seen the spirits so disturbing. Demons on the landings the screaming of a ghoul, The maliciousness recurring can often be so cruel. Black hole ballroom have you no remorse I say no sir; you are the centre and the source Many more that pass this way will see the apparitions It’s up to us who live here now to keep up the traditions. Shadowlike beings continue with their torture Innocent and guiltless are they that have to suffer, They have no regard for the lives that they torment , Pitiful and twisted the lost ones stay hell bent. So grey lady are you a Mrs or a Miss Are you tortured as you drift in the abyss? The phantoms of the stillborn will come to join you soon, As sure as death becomes us like the phases of the moon. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 188 [topic] => 13 [informant] => AnthonyGoodwinJnr [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 4 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry )
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