WASH AWAY MY PAIN

WASH AWAY MY PAIN

Please wash away my sorrow and pain.
Let it flow down the streets with the rain.
Dissolved in torrents of despair and sadness,
Joining others on its way past the madness.

The ocean may take it far away
To places, we cannot even say,
Where no one recognizes its sting 
Or knows the infliction it can bring.

Let the rain grow harder with its might,
Becoming hail on this fateful night.
I want to be free of all traces
Of unwanted feelings and faces.

My body grows cold from the rain.
It stands clean and free from the pain.
Shivers create a path on my spine
As I wait in the dark woods of pine.

I hold my head high to the wet spray;
It becomes a mist of blue and grey.
The faucet has turned off for the night,
Leaving me feeling clean and so right.

PRELUDE TO BOOK II – THE DEAD GAME SERIES

Has End House returned to Oasis?

Our chanting had cast it to sea.
 
It can’t be back.
 
We can’t be under attack.

Silence fills the forest.

A cold breeze tickles my arms.

I follow the path through

a thick copse of trees.

The sky darkens.

A shadow looms in the distance.

I enter the clearing.

Seagulls cry and swoop low.

I halt by a deep hole.

The spot where End House had stood.

A hard shove

And I’m falling.

Laughter follows my descent.

I hit rock bottom. 

A tunnel stretches before me.

Light at its end.

THE DEAD GAME CONTINUES

PRELUDE TO BOOK II

DISCARDED MEMORIES

Source:zoiodlula

The waves cascade,

bringing their baggage to shore.

Debris of lives gone by

and places far away.

Seaweed tickles my toes.

Shells crunch beneath my heels.

A motley display of humanity

sprinkled through the pink sand.

MUSIC OF THE NIGHT

coffeenuts

Let’s rock with the night.

Toss our manes free.

Gallop to the beat

Of the music of the night.

A PLACE OF FANTASY

A place of fantasy there must be,
where blues and green merge in the deep sea.

Clouds create formations into works of art,
resembling soft cotton balls splitting apart.

I raise my face to the sunshine of the day,
the rays shooting sparks as they frolic and play.

The sand is soft beneath my feet,
warming my body with its heat.

Come with me and enjoy the dazzling sun,
we’re sure to have fun till the day is done.

YELLOW NIGHTMARE

Sunflowers face off.

They’ve come alive.

Invade my dreams.

Star in my nightmares.

Green arms to strike.

Yellow faces too grim.

A field behind each.

Ready for the battle ahead.

THE DEAD GAME

TRICK OR TREAT

A house sits on a rise of land.

Watching.

Waiting.

Maybe it isn’t the house

that waits,

but the character

who lives inside.

Trick or treat.

A DEMENTED DANCE

Source:linxspiration

The waves rise in strength,

Converging on the town.

Translucent green towers

Swirling in a demented dance.

Clouds follow in their wake,

Growing cotton balls in grey.

Rumbles of thunder fill the air.

Lightning sparks rainbows of light.

Birds leave en masse,

Hurrying to leave the scene.

Oasis will soon fall

To The Dead and their thrall.

THE DEAD GAME

HAPPY HALLOWDAY

Source: whitechapelwitch

“Follow me.”

The girl points the way.

“And hurry.”

She marches away.

Darkness falls fast.

Creatures fill the sky.

The sun won’t last.

Furry wings flap by.

We walk to a dark house.

It looks deserted to me.

Shingles flap in the wind.

I don’t move, ready to flee.

She disappears inside.

Curiosity is piqued.

I climb the broken steps

and hit by something beaked.

I’m too afraid to speak

as hands grab for me.

White faces I can peak

turn to glare at me.

“Surprise,” yells a chorus.

Bright lights flood the room.

Laughter rings loud and clear.

Colors break the gloom.

The crowd quiets to a hush.

Party hats on every head.

They sing as I hide a blush.

“Happy Halloween” is said.

“Happy Birthday,” others sing.

Becomes “Happy Hallowday.” 

I can’t believe I’ve been pranked.

One I will have to repay.

FOOD FOR THE SOUL

The bird sings in its cage,

happy to be alive.

The musician plays his violin

in perfect harmony.

Nature at its best.

Beauty in its simplicity.

Food for our minds and souls.

THE FALLEN

Sherbrooke Forest | By Penny Whetton

 THE FALLEN

Tree branches bend,

scarred by age.

Beaten by the storm,

many hit the ground

amid piles of leaves.

Without a proper burial,

no one mourns their loss.

The fallen won’t be forgotten

as replacements take root

in the shade of the tall trees.

Sunshine filters through the forest,

lighting the way for the future.

BUDS OF HOPE

BUDS OF HOPE

In midst of despair and sorrow
rise buds of hope for the morrow.
Still standing upright and strong
against all that can go wrong.

These are extreme times of confusion and change,
media expanding over a broader range. 
We are attacked by sounds in each direction,
leaving no time for thinking and reflection.

These flowers know what’s real,
they go by what they feel.
Away from the hustle and bustle,
they grow wild without any tussle.

A day to clear my cluttered mind is all I need,
to recharge my battery is what I should heed.
I’ll recharge in a quiet place like this,
a zest for life is what I dearly miss.