TIME STANDS STILL

 

 

The island calls to me.

It whispers my name.

The bridge sighs.

It weeps for me.

I walk across.

It wobbles to and fro.

I hold tight to its ropes.

One step gives way

And then the next.

The sides unravel.

Time stands still.

I fall.

Icy water hits my face.

The silence surrounds me.

 

THE WASHING MACHINE

 

 

I’m having a bad dream,

no, maybe a nightmare,

of a washing machine.

 

It wakes me up at night.

It rumbles and whispers.

I hope it won’t take flight.

 

It’s moving and grooving

to a beat of its own,

that is far from soothing.

 

It’s a horrible sight.

A machine set to hard.

It’s ready for a fight.

 

I scream into my pillow.

“My clothing is all too clean,”

then I weep like a willow.

RISING

I’m over here.

I can smell your fear.

You won’t be alone.

I can hear your moan.

 

I’ll be rising soon.

On the next full moon.

We’ll rise from down under.

On lightning and thunder.

 

You will not recognize me.

I’ll be different you see.

My new body is strong.

Now do not get me wrong.

 

I still love you, my dear.

Of that please have no fear.

 

THE DEAD GAME continues

A SIGH

 

The island calls to me.

It whispers my name.

The bridge sighs.

It weeps for me.

I walk across.

It wobbles to and fro.

I hold tight to the ropes.

One step gives way.

And so does the next.

The sides unravel.

I can’t move.

Time stands still.

I’m falling.

Cold water hits my face.

Silence now takes it turn.

A SIGH OF NIGHT

Epiphanie © Etienne Cabran

 

It’s here.

Too near.

A mist of white.

A sigh of night.

Through the window.

“You friend or foe?”

A cold touch of ice.

Doesn’t feel too nice.

It now whispers away,

“You’re not welcome to stay.”

I’m leaving now.

I don’t care how.

Fingers wrap around my neck.

On my cheek I feel a peck.

Could that be a kiss?

Wasn’t hard to miss.

I’m chilled to the bone.

I’ve turned to cold stone.