The Wraith Wind Over the Mourning Courtyard
The wind is no more curious—it comes as a wraith’s shade,
Murmuring secrets sealed by death’s cold, earthen pledge.
Across graves where willow branches twist and fade,
Through skeletal pagoda beams and fallen joss paper edges.
No gentle rain—only a dark flood, deep and vast,
A torrent pouring as shadows crawl and creep.
Obscuring all in a shroud that chokes the past,
As night descends like a burial cloth, thick and steep.
Night falls not slow—but in a hasty, grim embrace,
Sudden darkness wraps the world in chilling dread.
Loneliness, like a raven’s shadow, takes its chase,
Seeking solace in the last glow of a dying shrine’s thread.
A lady’s soul bears no smile—only forlorn pain,
Her touch on rain drops like a spirit withdrawn.
Her eyes hold grief that time cannot restrain,
Where hope has long been buried ‘neath the frost-crusted lawn...🌘✨01262026 ©LanZhan
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