A luxury yacht sails the ocean.
Aboard are many guests,
Dressed in jewels and ball gowns.
Champagne flows freely.
Music fills the night air.
Bodies fall into the water,
Some are swimming,
And some are not.
Blood trickles into the water,
Covered by the moon’s shadow.
Cries increase in tempo
Until silence sweeps the dark ship.
Wooden Door, Orvieto, Italy © Doug Hickok All Rights Reserved
The door beckons.
It opens.
Into the darkness.
Into the quiet.
We step inside.
It locks behind us.
The silence envelopes us.
It carries us to our destination.
To the dark chambers.
Beneath the house.
Where our fate awaits us.
THE DEAD GAME
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.
Alison Scarpulla
ALONE
Alone with my thoughts.
Lost in my dreams.
A deserted forest.
Empty of people.
Devoid of sound.
No movement.
No sunlight.
Only endless trees.
Where my thoughts ring
loud and clear.
Ice Fire
Cold.
Icy cold.
My toes feel numb.
My fingers tingle.
The wind howls.
Sleep tempts me.
But I must continue
to the top of the hill.
The view waits for me.
Only a few more steps.
Silence wraps its arms around me.
I raise my face to the beauty.
The colors take my breath away.
by hdunsirn:Peabody library, baltimore 9.6.14
©hannahdunsirn
The peace.
The quiet.
The silence.
The hush of the hallways.
The smell of books.
The taunt of knowledge.
Sit at a table.
Sit by the stacks.
Sit in the corner.
Feel the adventure.
Live the history.
Learn about life.
Lonely (by Jørn Allan Pedersen )
Alone can be refreshing,
A walk in the cold snow.
Lonely can be depressing,
A silence that hits you low.
Can we distinguish between the two,
As we listen to our heart’s song?
Our time alone is so rare and few,
Refreshing until it feels wrong.
At this moment I feel alive,
Alone but not lonely in my own place.
My dark spirit yearns to survive,
As I raise my happy face.
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.
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 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.
