Beautiful rose,
Soft and velvety.
Protected by sharp thorns,
Sharp to the touch.
Bright in the sunshine;
Dark in the moonlight.
A two-faced wonder.
Month: August 2017
DARK SHADOWS OF MY MIND
The nightmare of my mind
Crammed with trees and dirt.
A deserted forest of the night,
No visitors or intruders.
Graves mark the spots
Where life once stood.
Now all that is left
Are dark shadows.
Shadows drifting across
The empty space of my mind.
Moonlit Forest
Walk with me through the moon lit forest.
Let our feet graze the tips of the grass,
never touching down,
held aloft by our love and passion.
Follow me through the endless night
to a land where no man walks.
Only creatures as dark as the sky
dare to venture forth alone.
Love has no bounds or shackles.
We will be free to display our passion,
without retribution from humanity
as long as you remain mine.
Come with me, my ice princess.
Step away from the burning plains,
where the heat burns your soles
and love is hampered by the living.
Wolf holds his hand out for me.
The words flow from him.
His lips never utter a sound
but his meaning as clear as can be.
We can be together forever more.
But the other has followed us to the clearing.
He will try to take me back
and never give up his hold on me.
His eyes burn red with passion.
Fire follows close on his footsteps,
scorching a trail through the grass,
melting his enemy’s cold trail.
They face each other.
Hot and cold from opposite poles,
dueling until the end of time
as they fight to the death.
THE DEAD GAME
Color My World
Source: frenzyy
Color My World
Color my world in shades of pink,
so long as I don’t have to think.
Brush more color in strokes of blue,
so I don’t have to think of you.
Add a mist of dark green
until I’m ready to scream.
Throw more colors at me,
but I know what I’ll see.
A world faded to black
until I get you back.
A Desert Landscape
Source: fascination–infatuation
A Desert Landscape
My mind is a desert landscape,
full of worries and contradictions.
It blasts away any chance of peace,
keeping me awake seeking sleep.
Thoughts are jumbled in the cobwebs,
lining the halls of my utter despair.
Bells ring in these curved walls,
warnings for me to take care.
Once one hole is filled in,
another one soon emerges.
A shovel will not do the job
to keep me safe from my pride.
A better state of mind is needed
to repair the damage already done.
My mind is a desert landscape,
full of worries and contradictions.
THE PERFECT SCULPTURE
Nature is a sculpture.
A living, breathing sculpture.
It entices us.
It bemuses us.
It challenges us.
But most of all,
it inspires us.
HIS DARK FLAME
(Source: postblackmetalsatan)
He fills me with longings.
Cold as the night air.
He flies free in the dark.
But yet he returns for me.
I dare not go to meet him.
In the dark forest at midnight.
I must hold strong and steady.
I must remain with my own kind.
With whom I feel safe and secure.
And never venture into the woods.
To rekindle his dark flame.
I must hold firm and steady.
Or my light will turn to dark.
THE DEAD GAME
WAIT FOR THE NIGHT
Wait for the night.
To darken the sky.
In deep shades of red.
To purples fading to black.
Silence follows on gossamer wings.
To quiet uneasy heartbeats.
To soothe roaming beasts.
Wait for the night.
To bring a dark veil on activities.
To unfurl the roaring waves.
Silence is here.
And so is the night.
A DARK COCOON
The moon passes the sun.
Morning bows out, all done.
Darkness unveils its grim poker hand
to the drum beat of the marching band.
A moment of blackness
brings fears of more darkness.
What if your life was all dark?
The sun never lefts its mark.
The mornings and nights the same,
bringing you mountains of pain.
No relief from the bleak cocoon
like digging your grave with a spoon.
Years fade and turn to dust,
your memory goes bust.
Trapped in walls of despair,
without holes for the air.
Is this living or not?
She is stuck in one spot.
Too afraid to venture outside,
a further blow to her lost pride.
She hides in the nursing home,
where she reaches for the phone.
“Help me,” she cries out.
No one can help out.
Lost in her dark cocoon,
where she fits like a spoon.
Waiting for death to take its flight
to a better place in the light.
NO SECOND CHANCES
I can’t touch you.
You are gone.
I must accept this.
There’s no coming back.
No second chances.
SUSANNE LEIST 