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.