OUR GAMES HAVE BEGUN --- THE DEAD GAME PART 8

The night is here.
Waves are lapping.
Dark blue ink creeping to shore.
Will I weather this storm?
Stand strong like the lone tree?

Flapping sounds fill the air.
Black spots cover the night sky.
Have they come for me?
For the town?

Waves hit me in the face.
The sand pulls me deeper.
The tree begins to bend.
I must go.

Shrieks echo in the wind.
Black feathers fly in the humid air.
Beaks pointing downward.
I must hide.

The trees call to me.
I will go to them.
They will hide me.
I must run faster.

Almost there.
A gazebo in the fog.
A noose hanging.
A body flapping in the wind.
The park can't offer me safety.
Nowhere can.

THE DEAD GAME

DEAFENING SILENCE

Desolate.
Alone.
Stark.
Cold.
Empty.
Sitting on a hill.
No houses nearby.
Only the comfort
of a bare tree.
The wind rattles
through my open beams.
Snow drifts in from my roof.
No peace.
Only cold.
And deafening silence.
Will it always be so?
Will the sun shine ever again?
Will horses return to my stables?
I could only wait and hope.

STAND ALONE

Stand alone.
We all do this at times.
On our own without backup.
It makes us stronger.
Sturdier like a tree.
We must stand tall and strong
against the wind and its harsh elements.

DREAM A DREAM

elinka:

A small cabin perched on a green hill.
The closest house is on the nearby hill.
Quiet rules the day.
The sun shines bright and clear.
The wind ruffles the slope of green grass.
The lone tree beckons for someone to
sit beneath it.
To sit in its shade with a book in one hand
and a glass of lemonade in the other.
Come and join my dream.