THE TREE

THE TREE
The tree appears dark and looming.
It could use some proper grooming.
I want to take a walk between its legs,
Growing tall from the ground like giant pegs.
By its rules we must strictly abide.
Imagine the secrets it must hide.
Come walk with...

 

THE TREE

The tree appears dark and looming.

It could use some proper grooming.

I want to take a walk between its legs,

Growing tall from the ground like giant pegs.

By its rules we must strictly abide.

Imagine the secrets it must hide.

Come walk with me in its deep shade.

Through the fallen leaves we will wade.

A canopy of leaves above our heads

As we fall asleep in our leafy beds.

 

OUR GAMES HAVE JUST BEGUN — THE DEAD GAME — PART 38


What happened to the colorful flowers?
Have they fled town with the cowardly sun?
In the encroaching darkness,
Only red stands out in its many costumes.

Red is the color of the falls behind town,
Where pink taffeta shields its cold fingers.
Red is the color of windows of End House,
Hiding the horrors waiting inside.

With its dying embers the sun bleeds red,
Packing its bags for a final goodbye.
Its tears mark the white sand with red gashes,
Tracking its sad journey into the unknown.

Red are the eyes of the great Wolf,
Watching the town prepare for him.
He keeps his distance until all is ready,
Until all are ready to accept him as ruler.

Gone are the joyous times of parties.
Gone are the sounds of laughter and giggles.
Now comes the time of battles to be fought,
Allies to be made, and enemies to be killed.

Wolf has brought this upon Oasis,
A town content to live in the light of the sun,
Happy to be human and alive.
It is too late to go back.

Time moves on.
And so do The Dead.
Once Oasis is conquered,
The world will be next.

Who will stop them?
Who can stop them?
Linda wants to know.
She needs to know.

Time will only tell.
The stage is set.
The die is cast.
All that’s left for us
To do is wait.

OUR GAMES HAVE JUST BEGUN

THE DEAD GAME

THE COLLECTABLES

Saw this picture.

And had to write a story.

The demon of hell.

He collects figurines.

Very collectable they are.

Dressed up in their finery.

Hair brushed.

Shoes shined.

In perfect health.

Hanging from his ceiling.

In the basement of hell.

He keeps them for all eternity.

Hanging in their clear casings.

Perfect pictures of health.

Except for one small fact.

They are all dead.