Whispers In The Fog Poem by Resul Ozen

Upon the moor where shadows creep,
Beneath the moon's lamenting weep,
A voice drifts softly, lost in sighs,
A ghostly whisper, full of lies.

The trees bend low with sorrowed weight,
Their withered limbs resigned to fate,
While winds that echo sorrow's tune
Cry out beneath the haunted moon.

The distant bells in hollow chime
Mark passage to the end of time,
And specters dance in spectral grace,
Their hollow eyes, a soulless face.

The river's breath is cold and deep,
It sings to those who dare not sleep,
And in the dark where silence grows,
A nameless dread forever flows.

Oh, weary heart, beware the call,
For in the fog the shadows fall,
And those who heed its mournful hymn
Shall fade to dust and light grow dim.