The Ghost cronicles

sweeping throught the valley
and a stairflight
going up to heaven

its the same thing
i see going on every night

sweet souls
making up their way
until the light shows
up ahead their path

cant you hear the sound
as the reaper mows

cant you tell the tale
as they descend to hell

nothing shows up anymore
nothing grows
nobody writes
for what would be worth to have written is just too cruel to beginn with.
Its dark times, with obscure things going on. With people going mad, most of them were crazy, others were just sad and gave in to the world.
The valley of death, an image used in song lyrics... it has become real. If it isnt famine, its violence. Nothing left to fight for except survival itself. Consider it a noble cause, for there isnt anything more real or more just than to fight for yourself in the times that we are living. Nobody uses the expresion i know how you feel. It is taken for granted that everyone is equal in the misery of this world.
Why do i write?
I dont know. I dont expect nobody to actually read what i write, but it helps me to think that, maybe in the future, if there is any kind of future, somebody might find these and read them.
Consider it the cronicle of our present, where the apocalypse took place and swept away most of life. Where supernatural things happen every single day. Ghosts... they are real now...
This, my work, you could call:
The Ghost cronicles

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