Those who live in the Dreamscape Poems
co-created by Christina Rosi & OpenAI
Those who live in the Dreamscape
A Poetry Collection Unveiling Nightmare Memories and "Paradoxical REM Sleep"
The blind woman on the porch
On the porch of a house so old, In an area abandoned and cold, A blind woman sits with her plate, Fed by a younger woman, her fate.
The creaky boards beneath their feet, The only sound they ever meet, For in this place, no bird does sing, And fear is the only thing.
The younger woman shudders with dread, As she feeds the old woman, now unfed, For she knows the stories, the tales of woe, Of those who came, but never did go.
They say the old woman's eyes see all, The ghosts of those who met their fall, And that she feeds on their souls, As they wander lost in the old house's holes.
The younger woman's heart beats fast, As she thinks of the ghosts of the past, And wonders if she'll be the next, To be lost in this place so perplexed.
But the old woman just sits and eats, Unaware of the younger one's heartbeats, For she has been blind for many years, And knows nothing of the younger woman's fears. So, they sit, the blind woman and her feed, On the porch of a house that few do heed, And the younger woman wonders when she'll go, To join the ghosts lost in the old house's flow.
Ghostly Playmates
In the dead of night, when the moon is bright, Two little ghost children come into sight, Playing their eerie games, in the moonlight, Their laughter echoes, causing fright. Their skin was so pale, their eyes aglow, Innocent faces, yet something unknown, Their games are so strange, not like our own, Chilling to watch, yet you can't look away, you're shown. The first one beckons, with a bony hand, As if to join in their spectral band, But as you step closer, they disappear, Leaving you alone, with only fear.
The second one whispers, in a haunting tone, Asking if you'd like to play alone, But as you turn around, to your dismay, Their little forms have faded away.
You shudder with fear, and quickly depart, Hoping their ghostly games will never start, For the thought of being their playmate, Is too much to bear, it's far too late.
So, beware of these little ghostly ones, Their games are weird and never done, And if you ever see them in the night, Run away fast and stay out of sight.
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Red August Abduction
In the month of August, fairies come alive, Innocent-looking creatures, but do not be naive, For if you wear red, they'll mark you as their own, And in the blink of an eye, you'll be gone.
You'll hear them whispering in the night, Their voices sweet, their words a delight, But if you follow them into the woods, You'll enter a realm where nothing is good.
The trees will twist and the flowers will wilt, The sky will darken and the air will chill, And there in the center, a fairy queen, Her beauty was a guise, her intentions obscene.
She'll offer you riches and powers untold, But take her hand, and you'll forever be sold, For the fairies don't just want your soul, They want to steal you from your world, whole. So beware the fairies in the month of August, And never wear red, for it is a must, For if they see you, they'll come for you, And you'll be lost, in a world that's not true.
The Boy
In the depths of the dark and dreary night, A boy with one blue eye and one green, Haunts the streets, an eerie sight, A sinister presence, never seen.
His gaze pierces the soul, His footsteps were silent as death, He stalks with a purpose, a goal, To steal the last of your breath.
With his mismatched eyes, He casts a spell of fear, In his wake, all sanity dies, As the boy draws ever near.
His voice is a whisper, a hiss, His touch was cold as the grave, In his wake, all that's left is, A world forever enslaved.
Beware the one-eyed boy, For he brings only terror and pain, His presence a cause for great joy, As the boy claims his next slain.
The Porcelain Girl in the Attic
In the attic of an old, wooden house, lies a closet, forgotten and obscure. In the corner, lurking like a mouse, stands a doll, her presence impure.
Her porcelain skin so smooth and pale
Her eyes, glassy and unblinking stare
Her hair in curls, so neat and stale
A deceptive beauty, oh so rare
But something's wrong, she's not quite right, Her smile is twisted, her lips are curled, Her gaze is haunting, her presence a fright, She's not a doll, she's a sinister girl.
She waits in the shadows, biding her time, Watching and waiting for the right prey
When night falls and the clock chimes
She emerges, to take them away.
She's trapped in that closet, day, and night, Her porcelain skin now cracked and aged
But her malevolent spirit burns bright, And her thirst for blood cannot be caged.
Beware the porcelain girl in the attic, Lest you become her next victim
For her eyes are watching, her grip is static, And her hunger is unrelenting.
The Giant Under Your Bed
Beware, dear child, of the skinny giant, With curved cheeks and clothes so torn Who hides under your bed at night, And waits until you are all alone.
His eyes are black as the darkest void, His skin, a sickly shade of gray He seeks to take you to his world, A place where colors fade away.
He whispers your name in the dark And reaches up with bony hands, Trying to pull you into his realm, Where nothing exists but barren lands.
His grip is cold as death itself, His touch, a terror you can't ignore, He wants to take you far away, To a place where life is no more.
So, when you hear a sound at night, And feel a chill run down your spine, Remember the skinny giant's plight, And pray that you'll be just fine.
For if he ever gets a hold of you
You'll be trapped in his world forevermore, A colorless world of oblivion
Where you'll never see the light anymore.
The Black-Clad Hag
Through moonlit mists, where darkness weaves, There wanders an old lady, one who grieves. In tattered shrouds of ebon hue, Her ancient visage, veiled from view.
A haunting presence, her form unseen, Yet whispers of her presence, so obscene. A pallid specter lost in despair, She follows closely, her mournful glare. Her eyes, twin orbs, deep pools of night, Reflect a sorrow, boundless, infinite. A voiceless wail, she longs to express, But a cruel fate left her sound suppressed.
The hag in black, her figure bent, Yearning to convey a message or intent. But as she utters, her voice a ghost, Her rage intensifies, an anguished host.
Her withered hands, like gnarled trees, Reach out to grasp, to beg, to appease. But her words, mere whispers on the wind, Leave you puzzled; no meaning pinned.
Oh, wretched soul, you can't comprehend, The message that she tries to send. Her cryptic tongue, a twisted strain, Frustration gnaws, her patience wanes. A curse befalls those who cross her path, A perpetual haunting, foreboding wrath. She trails behind, like a specter's cloak, Silently haunting, where shadows spoke.
The old lady in black, a figure feared, Haunted by secrets she never cleared. She yearns for release, for solace, for grace, But her voiceless plight lingers, a haunting chase. So heed this tale, dear traveler fair, Beware the hag with ebony hair.
For in her wake, a lamenting ghost, Forever she wanders, her presence engrossed.
In shadows' embrace, her anger remains, A spectral reminder, where fear sustains.
The old lady in black, forever she'll roam, Desiring understanding, an eternal groan.
In Shadows' Grasp
Beneath the moon's pale gleam, at night's grim shroud, A figure, eerie and dark, emerged from the cloud. A young man, gaunt and ghostly, with hair as black as night, Eyes devoid of life, and eyebrows, a sinister sight.
In the graveyard's ancient grounds, where spirits lay at rest, He surrendered his soul, amidst the tombstones, depressed. The pallor of his skin, a ghostly hue so pale, A specter from another realm, a haunting, sorrowed tale. Black tendrils of his hair caressed the chilling breeze, While eyes, pools of darkness, concealed untold unease. The moonlight cast upon him, a spectral glow so stark, As whispers echoed softly amidst the graves, remark.
Whence did this specter wander, this solitary soul?
What secrets did he carry, as he entered the graves' fold?
Did his heart bear burdens, or did darkness claim his core?
In the shadows' realm, he sought solace evermore.
The tombstones stood like sentinels, silent and austere, Watching as he wandered, in the midst of his own fear.
The wind whispered secrets, rustling leaves with dread, While the young man tormented, sought refuge with the dead.
But as the night grew deeper, a chill spread through the air, The graveyard came alive, with spirits now aware.
Eyes of glowing embers, from shadows they arose, To welcome the forsaken, and his heart's darkest throes.
The apparitions danced, a spectral waltz embraced, A macabre celebration, in this unhallowed space. Their voices filled the night, haunting melodies entwined, As the young man surrendered, his sorrows intertwined.
With each step, his demeanor shifted, a darkness unrestrained, A soul consumed by shadows, an identity waned. The graveyard claimed its prize, its new eternal guest, As the specter with black hair faded into the darkness.
And so, the tale is whispered, by those who dare to roam, Of a young man, once human, now a phantom, far from home. In the old graveyard, where restless spirits dwell, He surrendered to the night, where his tormented soul now dwells.
A Dance with Mora
In the darkest corners where nightmares breed, Lurks a specter, dreadful indeed. A haunting presence with an icy embrace, Born from the shadows, Mora takes chase.
With hollow eyes, a visage gaunt, She whispers secrets, her voice does haunt.
Her tendrils coil, her touch like ice, The harbinger of terror, her precise device.
In realms forgotten, where souls do quiver, Mora slumbers, a malevolent river. She waits for the lost, the weary, and the weak, To trap them in nightmares, where terror shall peak.
Beware her whispers, like the devil's hymn, For they carry darkness, the essence grim. They crawl through your mind, her poisoned song, Entangling your thoughts, dragging you along.
With every step, your spirit grows weak, As Mora's influence takes hold, so bleak. She revels in fear, the tremors you feel, As sanity crumbles and horror are revealed. Her kingdom of nightmares, a wicked domain, Where shadows dance, and anguish remains.
The echoes of souls, forever ensnared, In Mora's clutches, tormented and scared.
So, heed this warning, dear wanderer of the night, Beware the allure of Mora's plight.
For once she claims to you, there's no escape, In her realm of darkness, forever agape.
Whispers of the Pale Night
In the heart of a forest, deep and grim, Where moonlight's touch grows faint and dim, A chilling tale of shadows unfurls, Of haunting whispers and twisted worlds.
A group of creepy figures, clad in white, Their souls obscured in the ebony night, Gathered in a solemn ring, In secrecy, their dreadful schemes bring. Their eyes, aglow with an eerie hue, Their faces are masked, hiding what's true, In this nocturnal hour, their intentions unfold, To ensnare the unwary, to capture the bold.
Innocent children lost and forlorn,
Wearing white, in garments torn, Their youthful essence, a beacon of light, Yet drawn to darkness, this eerie sight.
Like ghosts, they wander, hand in hand, Guided by their silent, otherworldly band, Through twisted branches and gnarled trees, They dance with fear, a chilling breeze.
Casting spells of a diabolic kind, Binding souls to their wicked mind, Each chant and incantation fills the air, As shadows deepen, they become aware.
Their gaze falls upon an unsuspecting soul, A wanderer, haunted, afraid of the toll, They circle closer, their intentions clear, To seize their prey, to hold them near.
But amidst the chaos, courage takes flight, Defying the darkness, a flicker of light, The wanderer, resilient, dare to resist, Escaping the clutches, the terror's tryst.
The forest trembles, the air grows thin, As the chase begins, a fight to win, Through moonlit glades, the chase unfolds, A struggle of spirits, courageous and bold.
The children watch with eyes wide and bright, Yearning for freedom, for a chance to take flight, Caught between innocence and the abyss, Yearning for solace, an end to this.
The battle rages, light versus dark, A symphony of fear, an ominous arc, But hope persists in the darkest night, A beacon of resistance, a spark of might.
And as the first rays of dawn ignite the sky, The shadows retreat, their power denied, The creepy figures fade into the haze, While children, reborn, emerge from the maze.
And as the first rays of dawn ignite the sky, The shadows retreat, their power denied, The creepy figures fade into the haze, While children, reborn, emerge from the maze.
In the heart of the forest, a lesson is learned, That courage can triumph, and evil can be spurned, For even in darkness, hope can survive, And in the face of fear, we can truly thrive.
