poetry

Pleasantly Haunting

This place is full of ghosts.

They exist in the gloomy light of

Corpse-coloured candles

In those dark cottage walls,

Lingering with a ghoulish fondness.

I find myself drawn to remain also.

Perhaps these melancholy ruins offer

More than fear;

They invite somber reflections-

Reflections of the living as well as the dead-

And I find it pleasantly haunting

To explore the shadows

That hint at the brief spans of life

That may have walked these halls.

Although I worry our friends may have haunted too long;

Now they creak and moan at the slightest breathe

Across the stairs;

Wail and whine at the smallest strain.

You see,

These quiet graves are full of noise;

Full of grave suggestion

That perhaps we cannot die.

We’re fated to pace these cold floors forever-

Bound by footprints left in dust;

Tied to ballads about lives we can no longer mind

But the world decided to remember.

poetry

The Axe Falls

Around and
Around.
All around
Shadows gather like
Swirling dust.
Dread grows,
The axe falls.
In numbness
He called your name.
Someone
Replies…
Something, replies,
It’s laughing.
It’s not a person,
It was nothingness;
Alone-ness;
His ending.