Dark Whisperer

Where shadows linger and rivers wind,

And frost is kissed by the evening’s bind,

Beware the fever that stirs unseen,

A sickness sown where roots convene.

It does not spread as plague or blight,

But seeps in blood, like heat of night,

And pulses low beneath the ground,

With whispers lost, yet tightly bound.

A stillness sits where waters gleam,

And dreams unravel, torn at seam,

For what you fear has long been sown,

The seed lies deep, its tendrils grown.

It thrives within each daily rhyme,

An echo of an ancient crime,

Though surface clean, no scar appears,

The rot runs dark, beneath your fears.

So when the lakeshore calls your name,

And lanterns dance with phantom flame,

Know this truth, though eyes be blind—

What claims you now will not be kind.