Collapsing Giants. Greenland. [1080×108] Photo by Daniel Kordan
The mighty will fall
that had risen tall.
Melting to the sea
where no one can see
the majesty of your height
or the last breath of your fight.
Please do not leave us now.
Don’t take your final bow.
The earth is a sadder place
without your glowing, white face.
The brisk nip in the air,
as we trudge in the snow.
We feel an icy wind on our faces
as it pummels our bodies.
Someone else has done it.
We follow the footsteps,
a frozen trail in the snow.
Guests dance
between frozen statues.
Statues of ice.
Sad expressions for eternity.
Tears flow on frosty cheeks.
Beneath the music and gaiety
lies an undercurrent of evil.
Time to leave this cold paradise
and escape, if one can.
Escape this deadly game
of The Dead.
THE DEAD GAME
Kindle
Nook
Kobo
I have turned to stone.
I’m chilled to the bone.
The coldness is spreading.
Where can this be heading?
Please help me.
You can see.
I can’t even bend.
Life is at its end.
Cape Cod July 2013_-60 (by jackfrench)
Sunset brings shadows with the night.
Birds of prey take off in dark flight.
Hues of red fill the night air.
High-pitched howls sound too near.
Residents hide behind locked doors.
Is that blood seeping through the floors?
The forest rumbles with song and laughter.
Night parties filled to every rafter.
Limousines line the path to the glass house
Glass statues watch them, quiet as a mouse.
Dancing halts at the strike of midnight,
Twirling figures freeze in the moonlight.
THE DEAD GAME
The landscape is cold and bleak.
I’m beginning to feel weak.
Ice is melting in my shoes.
I’m getting the winter blues.
I can’t find my way from here.
I had thought the town was near.
I’ve been walking for days.
I’m in some kind of daze.
There’s a break in the rocks ahead.
I hope they don’t leave me for dead.
My friends have to come back to me.
Rocks and trees are all I can see.
My friends are in the park playing ball.
I didn’t have to be afraid at all.
Desolate.
Alone.
Empty.
No neighbors.
The wind rattles my walls.
Snow layers my roof.
No peace.
Cold.
Icicles hang low.
A deafening silence.
Will winter end?
Will the horses return?
I wait and hope.
The guests twirl and dance
between frozen statues.
Sad expressions for eternity
on their icy faces.
Wet tears flow
on frosty cheeks.
Beneath the music and gaiety
lies an undercurrent of evil.
THE DEAD GAME
Kindle
Nook
AN ARTIST’S PALETTE
Nature leaves an artist’s imprint
on all that it reaches.
Waves of the ocean can appear
in the coldest reaches.
Nature’s colorful palette
extends from the sky to beaches.
We might try to copy nature’s soft stroke,
but we must listen to what it teaches.
The dance floor is full.
The guests twirl between statues.
Sad expressions etched into faces.
Tears flow down frosty cheeks.
An undercurrent of evil lies
beneath the music and gaiety.
Time to leave the perfect guests
and the frozen smiles.
Time to escape if one can.
THE DEAD GAME
