Ghost Story Number One

There was a house on a hill
on the outskirts of town,
with boards, creaky and shrill
coming life when the sun goes down.
The lights glitter throughout
the run-down damp old thing
they ignite and blow out
and all the servant bells ring.
The deep sullen moans
that resound through the house
and raised speeches and groans
like the arguing of a spouse
Is it true, I wonder of these tales?
Although, when I'm there, my face pales.

Folks down and 'round the bend
tell me its a woman who haunts it
that her heart she did lend
and he crushed it and flaunts it
darker plots lines its walls
the wind carry its voice
and grow strong as darkness falls
that speaks out to coerce a choice.
Some other folks do relay
that she is evil and coarse
she has always been that way
and she has no remorse
They whisper of her murderous eyes
of blood that rains down from the skies

I go in and out of there everyday
and met her quiet form
both hate and sorrow in her lay
but hopelessness had left her torn.
I found she had given her heart
not to a man but to the world
she hadn't really been ready to start
the purging path conceived as a girl.
The moans were her broken soul
for the world had failed her
and no one at all had met her goal
no one had even hailed her.
not a soul would care a bit
unless she stopped and had a fit.

And so she threw a tantrum
and so she did shout
she ripped into them
and tore the bad part out,
but more and more she had found
that the organs came out with the disease
and mournful cries where her only sound
she could make when the dark did her seize.
She told me she was supposed to be savior
a messiah to the needy and weak
but they would not change their behavior
and the outlook is bleak.
All this she said to me
when her past she tried to flee.