DUST IN THE WIND

 

I’m alone

Beneath a tree

In a garden.

No sounds

But birds chirping.

The smell of grass

in the warm air.

What is that sound?

The wind rustling the leaves.

Beautiful.

Relaxing.

Perfect.

The sun retreats.

 

Footsteps draw near.

Too dark to see who it is.

It can’t be.

I’m now dust in the wind.

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THE ABYSS

babblzoom:

 

Falling.

Deeper.

And deeper.

Into the abyss.

No lights.

No sounds.

Only hands.

Reach for me.

 

I can’t grab onto the walls.

They’re too slippery.

My fingers slide down.

Is there an end,

Or even a bottom?

Will I be falling forever?

Down, down I go.

Into the abyss.

No more worries.

No more thoughts.

Just the abyss.

THE DEAD GAME  by Susanne Leist

THE HALLWAY

Green Hallway

The hallway waits.

It beckons.

It calls to me.

Green lights the way.

Doors open and close.

Cries fill the air.

A coldness descends.

Then total silence.

I inch forward.

Step by painstaking step.

I peer into a room.

A bed in an empty room.

The next room holds a wheelchair.

It turns.

Empty.

A green light glows.

From the room ahead.

Sounds of voices.

I move closer.

Until I can see inside.

Surgery is being performed.

On a skeleton.

By smiling people.

People who fade in and out.

Ghosts.

Time for me to leave.

I’m on the bed.

The ghost are looking down.

At me.

Too late.

SILENCE

Hallway

THE HUNT

It first comes slowly
In the dead of night,
Walking on silent feet.
It draws closer.
You run faster.
It speeds up.
You dash into a building.
It soon follows.
It brings silence.
You can feel its presence,
Coming closer.
It’s now moving rapidly
Down the deserted hallway.
You check the doors.
They are all locked.
You turn,
Close your eyes
And stand firm.
The darkness descends.

THE SWAMP

Swamp
moody-nature
IMG_4842 // By Robert Guimont

THE SWAMP

The swamp holds mysteries,

Silence within its barren domain.

Eyes peek through the sheer surface,

Hinting at the dangers lurking below.

Lacking is the bird’s song of twilight.

Missing is the rustle through the brush.

Silence holds us in its thrall,

Cold fingers clasping around my neck.

Humid air coats my mottled body,

Mutilated by blood-thirsty mosquitoes.

The path teases my mind’s eye,

Offering a way out of this hellhole.

I hack at the dried branches,

Threatening to leave me with one eye.

I’ve reached the end of my journey

As my feet sink in the quicksand of despair.

WAIT FOR THE NIGHT

Featured Image -- 11282

Wait for the night.

To darken the sky.

In deep shades of red.

To purples fading to black.

Silence follows on gossamer wings.

To quiet uneasy heartbeats.

To soothe roaming beasts.

Wait for the night.

To bring a dark veil on activities.

To unfurl the roaring waves.

Silence is here.

And so is the night.

THE DARK STREETS OF TOWN

mostlyitaly:
“  Altamura (Apulia, Italy) by Dauno Settantatre
”
Dark are the streets
By which they creep.
Silence is their goal.
Through the town, they go.
Bodies left behind,
Blood-dry we will find.
Church bells are tolling,
And heads are...

Altamura (Apulia, Italy) by Dauno Settantatre

 

Dark are the streets

By which they creep.

Silence is their goal.

Through the town, they go.

Bodies left behind,

Blood-dry we will find.

Church bells are tolling,

And heads are rolling.

Flee from this we must

Before we are dust.

 

THE DEAD GAME

 

I WALK ALONE

I walk alone.
In dead silence.
The wind flees.
The moon hides.
Man stays clear.
I walk alone.
Death is my companion.
Fear is my weapon.
Hell is my home.
I walk alone.
THE DEAD GAME
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 (Source: magnetar1)

 

 

I walk alone.

In dead silence.

The wind flees.

The moon hides.

Man stays clear.

I walk alone.

Death is my companion.

Fear is my weapon.

Hell is my home.

I walk alone.

THE DEAD GAME

Kindle
http://amzn.to/1lKvMrP
Nook
http://bit.ly/1lFdqNj

 

 

DEAFENING SILENCE

Desolate.
Alone.
Stark.
Cold.
Empty.
Sitting on a hill.
No houses nearby.
Only the comfort
of a bare tree.
The wind rattles
through my open beams.
Snow drifts in from my roof.
No peace.
Only cold.
And deafening silence.
Will it always be so?
Will the sun shine ever again?
Will horses return to my stables?
I could only wait and hope.

FOOTSTEPS

leirelatent
“Institute Benjamenta” (1995)

 
Has he come for me?

I hear his footsteps.

The leaves stop rustling.

The wind stops blowing.

The silence is overpowering.

A stranglehold on my nerves.

Is he standing outside the door?

Waiting for me to open it.

I won’t.

I won’t let him in.

He wants me.

I refuse to become one of them.

THE DEAD GAME

http://myBook.to/TheDeadGame

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