A BOOK IS A TREASURE

 

 

 

A long journey to become an author,
Days of soul searching and hard work.
The words need to be enticing and clear,
A bridge to the reader’s heart.

A movie camera sweeps across scenes,
So does a book’s point of view.
One point of view shows one angle,
While changing points of view reveal more.

To be lost in a book is truly a gift,
An escape from the mundane and boring.
A visit to far away places can be
An adventure to open your mind’s eye.

Once completed, a book is a treasure,
A symbol of the author’s hopes and dreams.
A confectioner’s delight to be tasted and savored,
To be remembered by the many or just a few.

Advertisements

TO BE OR NOT TO BE

book flames

 

 

To be or not to be a writer
has been the hardest question for me.
Should I continue with my pursuit,
or step away and claim defeat?
One book was written,
one book sold.
It dances around on Amazon and Nook.
It reaches new heights in its niche,
and then it slowly bows its head in silence.
The highs feel good and lofty,
While the lows feel depressing and sad.
Is it worth it?
Is it worth the aggravation?
I am told that a writer must keep writing.
More books to dance around.
More highs and lows.
Should I keep doing this?
Will I keep doing this?
Yes, for now
as I wait for the next high.

HAMMOCK

No automatic alt text available.

 

Calming blue waters.

Soft white sand.

Reclining on a hammock.

Enjoying the sunshine.

The bright blue sky.

The quiet.

Until—

Darkness descends upon us.

The trade winds turn violent.

Sand flies in our faces.

Rooftops fly above our heads.

We make a mad dash to town.

The sun hides her face.

Lightning joins the winds.

Where to hide?

The Town Hall waits.

Its front door stands open.

Inside is dark and quiet.

What awaits us now?

Windows shatter.

Shrieks fill the rooms.

Shadows fly by the tall windows.

We’re doomed.

 

THE DEAD GAME

A PICTURE COMES TO LIFE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Please follow me
Through the colors.
Past shimmering glass
And stacks of crayons.
The blue glass mirrors
Puffy cotton balls.
Scraggly arms reach high
to the ball of fire.

Can you hear the drums?
Flight of winged creatures.
Soaring high above,
too close to the fire.

Come closer and see
What my minds has wrought.
A scene near and dear.
To my thoughts and dreams.

TRAPPED IN MY DARK THOUGHTS

I’m trapped in my own dark thoughts,
forever roaming beneath the twinkling stars.
I can see an open door in the distance,
offering possibilities beyond the here and now.
I want to escape from this dreary existence
to sample the tastes of the wide and...

 

I’m trapped in my own dark thoughts,

forever roaming beneath the twinkling stars.

I can see an open door in the distance,

offering possibilities beyond the here and now.

I want to escape from this dreary existence

to sample the tastes of the wide and far.

 

OPEN THE DOOR

flowersgardenlove:

A closed door.

It can open to many things.

It can lead to a garden of flowers.

It can also lead to unspeakable horrors.

What are you in the mood for?

Do you want pretty flowers, 

or do you want to explore the unknown?

The choice is yours.

THE DEAD GAME by Susanne Leist

http://www.amazon.com/author/susanneleist

http://www.outskirtspress.com/thedeadgame

THE MUSIC OF THE NIGHT

 

THE MUSIC OF THE NIGHT

Sparkle.
Sparkle.
Shine.
Sway back and forth.
To the silent music.
The music of the night.

Asleep.
Come what may.
Drifting.
Dreaming.
Fantasy after fantasy.

Let the dark cover all.
Let it become part of you.
Join in to the music.
The deep silence. 
The music of the night.

Sparkle.
Sparkle.
Shine.
Sway back and forth.
To the silent music.
The music of the night.