What does it feel like to fly,
Rising to meet the blue sky?
Soaring to a new height.
A bird’s exclusive right.
Alone and soaring high,
Nary a cloud in the sky.
Take me along with you, please.
What can I do to appease?
The wind will ruffle my feathers.
I will fly without any tethers.
I will fly over the land
To the tune of a marching band.
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
Fly like the wind
Along the country road
Past rolling plains,
Majestic mountains.
Beauty on every side.
The storm approaches the shore.
A spray of water hits my face.
The salty breeze lifts tendrils of hair.
Palm trees sway and bend.
The sand ripples
from the increasing wind.
Birds flee for safety.
Waves crash against the rocks.
The sky darkens to red in its anger,
raining tears across the land and sea.
When will it end?
Once the sky calms,
the sun will shine.
The birds will return.
The tantrum will be over.
Abandoned Library (by katka.havlikova)
Abandoned books.
Knowledge lost.
Potential buried.
Animals scurry past
Discarded pages
That no one will read.
The wind sighs.
RIDE WITH THE WIND
The Dead ride the night.
They ride with the wind.
The daylight is their enemy.
Lock your doors.
Cover your windows.
You might be next.
They are a select group.
They torment their victims.
They are bloodthirsty.
See you in hell.
THE DEAD GAME
Kindle
http://amzn.to/1lKvMrP
The brisk nip in the air,
as we trudge in the snow.
We feel an icy wind on our faces
as it pummels our bodies.
Someone else has done it.
We follow the footsteps,
a frozen trail in the snow.
