357. The Haunted Forest
Forest of restless spirits, and the dungeon of the undead,
Terror of the living, a dreadful place that should not be tread.
A dark unholy woodlands, scattered with many grave mounds,
On moonless nights you still can hear their ghostly eerie sounds.
It begins with a low moan, blowing in the evening breeze,
By midnight it starts to howl through the hangman's trees.
In their unrelenting anguish you can feel their eternal pain,
Their agonizing cries for help cascade down like pouring rain.
Every withered leaf that falls represents a victim of the rope,
They died for their faith, though they never lost their hope.
So many souls screaming out to us, through a thousand years,
Bitter voices forever tormented, barely holding back their tears.
The martyrs' names are recorded, carved deep within the bark,
Preserved on the gallows tree, and written in the Elder Futhark.
Until their tragic deaths are avenged, their spirits can never rest,
They are cursed to roam forever in the gloomy haunted forest.
- Glenn Bergen, ( Ravensheart ), © Copyright, 2015.