Cypress Lawn Memorial Park | GarettPhotography
Evil waits for you and me.
Beneath the tall cypress tree.
It comes in the dark of night.
Won’t leave without a good fright.
The mausoleum is dark.
We only came on a lark.
Time for us to run and go.
The wind says, “I don’t think so.”
THE DEAD GAME
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Sascha Schneider (German, 1870–1927), Eichenwald auf Ruegen (Oak Forest on Ruegen Island), 1925
The forest grows dark.
It has come alive.
Wooden arms reach for me.
Roots uncurl from the ground.
Trees shake and dance
to the moans of the wind.
Dark shadows follow me.
Moonlight teases me.
I’m trapped in hell,
where the sun doesn’t shine.
THE DEAD GAME
An oasis where dreams come true,
Palm trees wave in the warm breezes.
Birds sing a happy tune of their own
Until the night exhales its cold breath.
Torrents of wind fly across the sand,
Covering all footsteps of the night before.
Dark shadows leave behind no evidence,
And tourists remain innocent no more.
THE DEAD GAME
A beautiful fall day.
A pebbled path through the red.
Charcoal steps leading up.
Fantasies flow through my head.
The leaves lift off
Until the day turns dark.
I’m trapped inside
A red swirl in the park.
The rain trickles.
The wind cackles.
I flee for safety
On raised hackles.
The path is gone.
Night has come too soon.
The path is gone.
Lost in the full moon.
My mind is foggy today.
I need to clear the cobwebs.
Throw out the excess garbage.
The bad thoughts.
The worries.
All to the wind.
And think of a pretty place.
Where the birds chirp and play.
Where the mountains soar high.
Where windows bring in the light.
I can lift my face to the sun.
To the beauty of life.
To the smell of grass.
To the puffy white clouds.
I’m there right now.
Come and join me.
Source:relatlonship
The snow melts,
leaving trails to the lake.
A cold wind brushes by,
leaving me goosebumps.
Ice hangs from the trees,
leaving clear spider webs.
Snow covers the grass,
leaving footsteps behind.
I depart this cold scene,
leaving my own behind.
The sun hits my face.
Clouds roll by.
Followed by raindrops.
Tears from heaven.
Between the sun and clouds
they fall.
Propelled by the soft wind.
They blur my vision.
Stop me in my tracks.
Cause me to look up.
To the heavens.
To the source.
A light glows from the gazebo.
Chanting floats on the howling wind.
Lit candles form a circle inside.
A body dangles in their midst,
swaying in the increasing winds.
Dark figures circle the body.
Their hands raised in prayer.
The Dead Game has begun.
THE DEAD GAME
TO BE FREE
I want to be free.
I need to be free.
To fly far away.
Above all else.
To soar high above.
To peer down.
Through the mighty clouds.
Upon all else.
My wings are spreading.
My head held high.
Feathers to the wind.
Face to the sun.
Goodbye to all.
Goodbye to the mundane.
Goodbye to the everyday.
Goodbye to all else.
I’m swinging through the sky.
Take me high, oh so high.
I see people as dots
And cars in parking lots.
Wind is flowing through my hair.
As I cling tight to my chair.
Take me away, far away.
To somewhere special today.
