Shrouded in mystery, not for the weak of heart
The jagged cliffs dark and damp, feral mosses
Cling to ragged stones along the perilous trail
Where only fools would tread!
A cold eerie mist devours the daylight,
Leaving all-consuming darkness in its wake.
Rhythmic thunder echoes into the trees…
The turbulent sea pounding the rocks below!
There’s a footbridge near the cliff’s edge
Where spine-chilling whispers pierce the silence.
There he waits, in the shadows below the bridge,
Gnarled fingers clinging to the rotting timbers!
No one ventures there anymore.
Deemed unsafe, they closed it down.
Too many had tried, and too many had died,
Lost in the treacherous crevices within.
But now and then the very young drop by,
An adrenalin rush, they do it on a dare!
For in the minds of the youthful
There’s nothing to fear but fear itself!
And he patiently anticipates their foolhardiness!
For this half-acre of the earth belongs to him!
Banished there by the righteous a century ago…
He vowed to seek revenge against them all!
There are naysayers that mock the stories!
And there are those who’ve been there and back.
But in the Devil’s Half-Acre some have vanished
Never to be seen again!
© Annabel Sheila
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JOYCE * HIS INSPIRATIONS
carolyn
Regis
Joy L. Hale
You do think of every nuance, clever Annabel!
Much peace, love and light,
Amber
But in the Devil’s Half-Acre some have vanished
Never to be seen again!
But this.....pretty much describes downtown LA. Patrick
Another time I was with a deer hunter in a tree stand. I took shelter from the wind in a log shelter for that purpose. As the mist moved over the mountain at dusk,, I felt like I was being transported back to the time when only Native Americans hunted this mountain. A very eerie feeling.
Ron
here in Pa. named Ricketts Glenn. In youth group we had
adventures down the glen. Mossy rocks the paths. Pools of water
from streaming water falls. Beautiful but yet a mysterious
aura abounds. It is still open today but walk down the glenn
at your own risk. Lady Mary Ann
Your friend, Mark