THE JOURNEY

The mist follows close at my heels,

Relentless in its pursuit.

Roots poke through the ground.

Tree limbs grab at me.

The fog clears.

The forest ends.

I’ve reached the clearing.

He waits for me.

A black stallion is his ride.

I grab his extended arm.

He lifts me behind him.

We ride like the wind.

I sigh and turn my head.

A scream is lodged in my throat.

His face isn’t of my loved one

but a mask of death.

We ride like the wind

to the ends of the earth.

Hell’s gates shut behind us.

No one is knocking on its doors.

I BID YOU, ADIEU

Source:i-consume-your-light-again

The forest torments me to no end.

I don’t want this to be a dead end.

Hot breath breathes close to my ear

as I make my way from here.

The woods are known to be haunted.

With dark whispers, I’ve been taunted.

I’ve passed this tree before.

I can’t run anymore.

The shadows are closing in.

The forest is dark as sin.

I must say goodbye to one and all.

It’s time to follow the bouncing ball.

The script has been written.

My neck has been bitten.

I bid you adieu.

A vampire, to you.

THE DEAD GAME by Susanne Leist

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HOTTER THAN HELL

Hotter than hell is their playground.

Beneath layers of rocks and dirt.

They wait for their day of salvation.

When they can ride in the storm.

They grow impatient for the invasion.

The end of life as we know it.

I can hear their cries blowing in the wind.

The whispers brought forth from below.

It’s time for us to gather ammunition.

Before our poor town is nothing at all.

THE DEAD GAME

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A LIGHT SHINES

Source:weheartit.com

A light shines through the window.

What was dark is now light.

The spotlight hits its mark.

My dark form shivering on the bed.

Whispers fill the air.

Footsteps follow in their wake.

A door opens below.

Is it too late to run?

I must save myself from him.

He walks the night to find me.

His journey has come to an end.

And so has mine.

THE DEAD GAME

DARK WOODS

magic-spelldust

KENNETH BARKER

The wind whispers, ” Hello,”

to whom I don’t know.

I quicken my pace

to get out of this place.

Under the trees, I run

to a place in the sun.

I was at the beach,

within close reach.

But now I race in fear

that I’ll be found here.

“Take me out of here,”

I run fast in fear.

THE WASHING MACHINE

blakekathryn

ruin

I’m having a bad dream,

no, maybe a nightmare,

of a washing machine.

It wakes me up at night.

It rumbles and whispers.

I hope it won’t take flight.

It’s moving and grooving

to a beat of its own,

that is far from soothing.

It’s a horrible sight.

A machine set to hard.

It’s ready for a fight.

I scream into my pillow.

“My clothing is all too clean,”

then I weep like a willow.

HEAR THE WHISPERS

by hdunsirn:Peabody library, baltimore 9.6.14
©hannahdunsirn

The peace.

The quiet.

The silence.

The hush of the hallways.

The smell of books.

The taunt of knowledge.

Sit at a table.

Sit by the stacks.

Sit in the corner.

Feel the adventure.

Live the history.

Learn about life.

HEAR THE WHISPERS

by hdunsirn:Peabody library, baltimore 9.6.14
©hannahdunsirn

The peace.

The quiet.

The hush of the hallways.

The smell of books.

The taunt of knowledge.

Sit at a table.

Sit by the stacks.

Sit in the corner.

Absorb the essence.

Hear the whispers.

Of readers.

Of authors.

Read about love.

About adventure.

About history.

About life.

HOTTER THAN HELL

Hotter than hell is their playground.

Beneath layers of rocks and dirt.

They wait for their day of salvation.

When they can ride in the storm.

They grow impatient for the invasion.

The end of life as we know it.

I can hear their cries blowing in the wind.

The whispers brought forth from below.

It’s time for us to gather ammunition.

Before our poor town is nothing at all.

THE DEAD GAME

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http://bit.ly/1lFdqNj
Source:st-lu

A GLASS HOUSE

cabinporn

The Glass House at Candlewood Cabins, Wisconsin.

A glass house reveals all.

No secrets hidden.

No bodies buried.

No whispers unheard.

A HUM

spoutziki-art

Henri Martin, Mystic Scene, 1895

In the quiet.

There is a hum.

A whispering sound.

A pitch too high to hear.

A touch too light to feel.

We are never alone.