
Source: uurtd
ESCAPE
Run to the exit.
Escape this farce.
Ignore the grinning faces,
the clinging arms.
Breathe the fresh air.
Let no one stop you.
Source: uurtd
ESCAPE
Run to the exit.
Escape this farce.
Ignore the grinning faces,
the clinging arms.
Breathe the fresh air.
Let no one stop you.
WHERE THE WIND BLOWS
The trees of the forest shiver and shake,
their long limbs trembling for the next quake.
Their bodies blaze a glaring white
with tears frozen from their new plight.
The world has become hard and cold.
My trembling body feels old.
Surrounded on four sides by white,
the bright glare has blinded my sight.
White is the color of my nightgown
as I stand and shiver with a frown.
A shadow emerges from the trees.
I hope it is not him, pretty please.
My body moves forward against my will.
I grab a thick tree and try to hold still.
I dig my feet into the packed snow,
but I must go where the wind might blow.
Frozen in place.
Dripping tears for centuries.
Memories of a lifetime.
Praying for salvation.
A frown for eternity.
Will her tears sprout
a garden for The Dead?
THE DEAD GAME
by Susanne Leist
what we feel in our hearts.
As the day comes to an end,
we must face the night.
Turn not your face away.
Dare not take a step back.
Bear the brunt of the red moon
as it burns through your empty soul.
I stroll through the fallen leaves,
a translucent green beneath my feet.
Red branches bring me shade,
protecting me from the harsh sun.
I walk alone through the silent forest,
no one to bring me pain or sorrow.
Alone is what I desire most
as I follow my path so narrow.
A creature of the night,
who walks in the moonlight.
Don’t be fooled
by his beautiful shell.
For inside, he’s empty,
without a soul.
THE DEAD GAME by Susanne Leist
Dark passion rules the night.
Frozen in place.
Dripping tears for centuries.
Memories of a lifetime.
Praying for salvation.
A frown for eternity.
Will her tears sprout
a garden for the dead?
THE DEAD GAME
I walk alone each night.
The wind moans and howls,
but no one calls my name.
I walk alone each night,
waiting for the siren’s call.
But no one calls my name.