Take me from a world without color,
where life can be dull and grey.
I want to swim through the ocean’s waves,
where rainbows frolic and play.
The sun’s rays shimmer on the water,
leaving trails of gold, yellow, and red.
Beacons of light for me to follow,
to a new land where to lay my head.
Who lives on this small island?
It’s time for me to explore.
I see a hut of branches.
I must see if there is more.
I walk across the pale pink sand
to the small hut and step inside.
The room is dark, without windows.
I check to see what it may hide.
A man saunters into the room.
At the table, places are set.
He turns to me with a huge grin,
as if I am his new prized pet.
He makes an abrupt movement
and strides across the dark room.
He kisses me with cold passion
under the blood-red moon.
I swam across the ocean
to find a new shore.
But here I am again
in his arms once more.
Flakes float to the ground
As a hush falls across the city.
Few cars brave the road.
Footsteps have yet to mark
The white surface.
The blanket of snow sparkles clean.
The city is refreshed,
Its sins covered,
Portrait Sculpture Photography by Brno Del Zou
They need a purpose
to hold them together.
They need a soul.
Portovenere, Italy ~ Luca Libralato
Brushstrokes of blue and gray
to outline the puffy clouds.
Broad swipes of teal and aquamarine
to meet the neverending horizon.
Swells of purest white
will rise from the blue depths.
As my fingers reach for the canvas,
my gaze travels to the brushes,
and I shake my head.
No painting is needed
to capture the perfect day.
I stare around me
at nature’s perfect handiwork.
A more beautiful place cannot be.
It faces the waves of the dark sea.
White sand and quiet beaches galore.
You can’t ask for anything more.
Life is perfect as can be.
Come and frolic with me.
Tourists visit from far and wide.
Oasis is Florida’s pride.
Beware as The Dead descend.
We can no longer pretend
This is a perfect place to be.
The Dead will rise from the sea.
Darkness brings flying creatures and death.
Beware that this won’t be your last breath.
THE DEAD GAME
We stand alone in this bleak hall.
There won’t be dancing at this ball.
Time to leave this creepy place.
We must quicken our slow pace.
But since this is a horror story,
We will not be leaving with glory.
THE DEAD GAME SERIES
Sunset brings shadows with the night,
Birds of prey springing into flight.
As a hue of red paints the night air,
A high-pitched howl sounds too near.
Residents hide behind locked doors,
As trails of blood seep through the floors.
The mansion rumbles with laughter,
Loud music reaches each rafter.
Gargoyles watch as quiet as a mouse,
As limousines line a path to the house.
At the harsh stroke of midnight,
Dancers freeze in the moonlight.
THE DEAD GAME
A party beneath the full moon.
I’m sure your host will be here soon.
Candles light the way.
Please enjoy your stay.
THE DEAD GAME