SILENCE

Hallway

THE HUNT

It first comes slowly
In the dead of night,
Walking on silent feet.
It draws closer.
You run faster.
It speeds up.
You dash into a building.
It soon follows.
It brings silence.
You can feel its presence,
Coming closer.
It’s now moving rapidly
Down the deserted hallway.
You check the doors.
They are all locked.
You turn,
Close your eyes
And stand firm.
The darkness descends.

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ENERGY OF LIGHT

Light in forest

ENERGY OF LIGHT

Light the night sky with your energy.

Waves of light to shock our senses.

Sizzling sounds to move our souls.

Darkness yearns to blacken the sky.

But the streaks of light persevere.

The moon lifts its face with a grin.

Thunder will be riding soon on its horse.

Mother Nature never misses a beat.

The light forewarns us of the coming storm.

THE SWAMP

Swamp
moody-nature
IMG_4842 // By Robert Guimont

THE SWAMP

The swamp holds mysteries,

Silence within its barren domain.

Eyes peek through the sheer surface,

Hinting at the dangers lurking below.

Lacking is the bird’s song of twilight.

Missing is the rustle through the brush.

Silence holds us in its thrall,

Cold fingers clasping around my neck.

Humid air coats my mottled body,

Mutilated by blood-thirsty mosquitoes.

The path teases my mind’s eye,

Offering a way out of this hellhole.

I hack at the dried branches,

Threatening to leave me with one eye.

I’ve reached the end of my journey

As my feet sink in the quicksand of despair.

My Battered Heart

rose wilted
Source: dolcemania

My Battered Heart

The rose drifts to the ground,

Petals dry and wilting in the cold breeze.

A death resembling the demise of my heart

As an unraveling of feelings turns to dust.

A shoe grinds the rose petals to oblivion,

The preferred state of my battered heart.

The wind lifts the remnants of the flower

to circle around me with its dying breath.

POWERPLAY

POWERPLAYPowerplay
Source: buteverythingisred

Jagged fingers slice through the air.

A dance of the gods for mere mortals.

We hold our breaths as they sizzle and play.

The clouds keep them in place in defiance.

The ground rumbles in dismay at their power play.

The wind and rain fight to divert their direction.

Their aim is compromised by their enemies.

They hold strong and band together.

But the gods and nature block their path.

The earth is saved from ruin on this day.

But they’ll be back again another day.

THE DEAD AND GONE

black sparkle rose

THE DEAD AND GONE

A town where the snow is black,
bringing coldness and fear.
Old remnants of tears held back,
and times too hard to bear.

Woven from black sheets of rain,
fear covers in disarray.
Anguished and frozen with pain,
dark petals fall in dismay.

Hell has come to Oasis,
The Dead and gone at its side.
Now hidden behind faces
that are well-known far and wide.

Who will fall prey to The Dead?
I hope it is not me.
I’m hiding under my bed.
I’m afraid as I can be.

THE DEAD GAME
http://amzn.to/1lKvMrP
http://bit.ly/1lFdqNj

AFTERNOON DELIGHT

1 Fantasies are a way of life

“Come back to me my sweet.
Take a break from the heat.
An afternoon in a cool retreat.
We could make our own special heat.”
The wood door rattles and creaks open wide.
I hesitate before I walk inside.
The small room is as dark as night.
I begin to tremble with fright.
Maybe I should leave this place.
The door slams shut in my face.
I hear the voice in the air
Telling me, “what fair is fair.”
I intruded on this secret room,
​And so I won’t be leaving too soon.

THE RETURN

1501711178367-take-my-hand

I’m over here.

I can smell your fear.

You won’t be alone.

I can hear your moan.

I’ll be rising soon

On the next full moon.

I’ll rise from down under​

On lightning and thunder.

You will not recognize me.

I’ll be different you see.

My new body is strong.

Now do not get me wrong.

I still love you, my dear.

Of that please have no fear.

THE DEAD GAME continues

HELOISE AND ABELARD, LOVE’S REQUITAL, FEMINISM AND RELIGIOUS BIGOTRY IN THE MIDDLE AGE, SCHOLARLY CHAUVINISM, AND CONTEMPORARY VIEWS, ON HELOISE LOVE LETTERS.

Kone, Krusos, Kronos

Abelard and his Pupil Heloise (1882) by Edmund Blair Leighton

I would not want to give you cause for finding me disobedient in anything, so I have set the bridle of your injunction on the words which issue from my unbounded grief; thus in writing at least I may moderate what it is difficult or rather impossible to forestall in speech. For nothing is less under our control than our heart – having no power to command it we are forced to obey. And so when its impulses move us, none of us can stop their sudden promptings from easily breaking out, and even more easily overflowing into words which are the everready indications of the heart’s emotions: as it is written, ‘A man’s words are spoken from the overflowing of the heart.’ I will therefore hold my hand from writing words which I cannot restrain my tongue from speaking; would that a grieving heart would be as ready to…

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