The Spirit

The Spirit

The spirit calls, it calls, it calls
Behind these vacant, dusty walls
It moans
It groans
The horrid sound
The blood stains left upon the ground
A screech, a scream
A fallen beam
Crushed out like a light
In the dead of night
A girl, a woman of human birth
Dead and dull, of little worth
Whistling winds, screeching howl
Who calls back but the haunting owl
Again, again the spirit cries
Another shall meet their demise.