Puppet Master 2 (1991)
What do I see at night
as I wake from sleep?
A puppet coming alive
on the shelf in my room.
It creaks.
It groans.
Its head spins around.
It can’t be real.
It’s a wooden puppet.
No one to pulls its strings
Until it speaks
In a deep voice.
It can’t be alive.
Until it says,
“Time to play.”
I run to the door.
It can’t be.
It’s standing before me,
Taller than me,
Arms reaching for me,
A gleam in its black eyes.
It can’t be.
But it is.
It’s alive.
THE SEARCH
In the quiet summer night,
Light shining from a great height,
A search until morning light.
We hold firm with all our might
That we find what we’re searching for,
Before the night ends, shuts the door.
We need to find her before it’s too late.
We refuse to leave this up to mere fate.
A shout, a cry is heard in the dark.
It must be her alone in the park.
The light shines on her pretty face.
She sees us and picks up her pace.
She is crying and laughing at the same time,
A perfect ending to this story of mine.
A touch of pink at night.
I do not need much light.
I bud in the dark.
My spot in the park.
Can you feel me touch your hair?
If you cannot, please come near.
I’ll sprout in the spring for you and me.
A prettier sight you will not see.
… the inner gauge is rising to its peak …
Anger raises its head
as I thrash in my bed.
The hot flush of pink is flowing.
To my brow, it isn’t slowing.
I remember his aqua eyes
as he retold his many lies.
I watched the grim line of his frown
as he turned my world upside down.
I won’t let him ruin my night.
I need him out of my sight.
No more meetings in the dark
beneath the elm in the park.
No more whispers as we walk.
I know the town loves to talk.
I say goodbye to my fickle love
as the moon bows its head above.
Cover me with your yellow light.
Hide me from the night’s evil plight.
Take me in your arms and hold me.
Come down to me on bended knee.
I need you tonight and forever more.
Hold me so tight until I’m hurt and sore.
The sun sets for the night.
The Dead rise up.
Time to run
before it’s too late.
The Dead take no prisoners.
The Dead Game
vintage blog
He walks in the night,
Ready for a fight.
No one comes near.
Most out of fear.
I won’t walk his way.
By the tree, I’ll stay
Until he’s gone from sight.
Only then I’ll take flight.
WE’RE HERE
A walk through the cemetery.
Darkness is my friend.
The moon my best buddy.
Shining stars to keep me company.
“Who goes there?”
A voice calls in the distance.
Is that the night watchman?
Has he seen somebody?
Should I continue walking?
All is quiet.
The mist moves.
It parts, and I can see—
What is that?
Skeletons are rising from graves.
And I can hear the music.
They are dancing to the beat.
Skulls are swiveling.
Bony feet are tapping.
Who knew a cemetery
could be such fun?
Sparkle.
Sparkle.
Shine.
Sway back and forth.
To the silent music.
The music of the night.
Fall asleep.
Come what may.
Drifting.
Dreaming.
Fantasy after fantasy.
Let the dark cover all.
Let it become part of you.
Join in with 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.
It comes in the night.
It comes to all.
To all who sleep.
To all who lie awake.
It comes on soft wings.
It comes in silence.
I lie and wait.
In trepidation.
In fear.
For it.
