The Haunting

Apparitions of the tirade
Shape shift through the mist
Words hurled like sticks n stones
A spector of clenched fists

A haunting of transgressions
On repeat every night
Too scared to let go
Accustomed to the fright

Not enough sage to cleanse
Not a shaman brave enough to banish
Not even in death
Will the poltergeist vanish

A possessed spirit must
Be faced with a stand
To end the nightmarish reign
And sent back to the shadowlands