They come from the deep.
They come when you sleep.
On waves of ice and stone,
They’ll burn you to the bone.
Fire burns hot on the ice
As demons cut a deep slice.
Stay far from the shore,
Or they’ll search for more.
THE DEAD GAME SERIES by Susanne Leist
WHERE THE WIND BLOWS
The trees of the forest shiver and shake,
their long limbs trembling for the next quake.
Their bodies blaze a glaring white
with tears frozen from their new plight.
The world has become hard and cold.
My trembling body feels old.
Surrounded on four sides by white,
the bright glare has blinded my sight.
White is the color of my nightgown
as I stand and shiver with a frown.
A shadow emerges from the trees.
I hope it is not him, pretty please.
My body moves forward against my will.
I grab a thick tree and try to hold still.
I dig my feet into the packed snow,
but I must go where the wind might blow.
