
Ice Fire
Cold.
Icy cold.
My toes feel numb.
My fingers tingle.
The wind howls.
Sleep tempts me.
But I must continue.
A few more steps.
Silence wraps its arms around me.
I raise my face to the sky.
The colors take my breath away.
Ice Fire
Cold.
Icy cold.
My toes feel numb.
My fingers tingle.
The wind howls.
Sleep tempts me.
But I must continue.
A few more steps.
Silence wraps its arms around me.
I raise my face to the sky.
The colors take my breath away.
Silence reigns supreme.
The sun hides its face.
Palm trees shake their leaves.
Winds quicken their pace.
The hotel’s deserted.
Flapping sounds fill the air.
Dark shadows join the fray
beneath his icy stare.
THE DEAD GAME
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They walk on silent feet
through the forest so deep.
I must keep moving my feet
without stopping to sleep.
The howling wind plays their song
of bloody deaths for us all.
They’re not for this place for long.
They wait for the town to fall.
They are surrounding me.
I can’t outrun their reach.
Somehow I must get free
and make it to the beach.
The ground is opening.
Sadly I know for whom.
I’m falling in a hole
that will soon be my tomb.
THE DEAD GAME by Susanne Leist
Silence sweeps the streets clean.
No voices to mark the white surface.
A cold wind brushes away
prints of unwanted footsteps.
Lights in the distance
warn us of inhabitants.
Ignore those earthly reminders
of noise and commotion.
Instead, enjoy the serenity
nature presents to us.
Henri Martin, Mystic Scene, 1895
In the quiet,
There is a hum.
A whispering sound,
A pitch too high to hear,
A touch too light to feel.
We are never alone.
:
Alice Svane
The darkness approaches.
It encroaches.
We’re cocooned in its shell.
Hidden in its depths.
Lost in its silence.
I will close my shutters.
Shut my windows.
But it still enters.