Wednesday, May 23, 2012


Strange sounds, locked away in dark corners
the dusty places of the mind, sill waiting
for the morning sun, frozen sinews
keep you, stalk you,
tiny and frail, the silken hands

they bind you, amidst tangled
churning legs, as the damp earth
opens up before you,
and cold wispy shadows
encircle the weary mind,
grasping at your beating heart,
fingernails slowly tracing
the edges of sanity,

it is then that all hope is lost,

absorbed by fear like
a drop of rain in the parched desert,
as they gather round your fire,

icy gazes hang in the air
draped across the
brooding trees, eyes
and mouths greedily

devouring hours into minutes,

seconds to eternity,

as the bell tolls, tolls,

inviting your lost soul to
the feast
again, yet again.

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