shadow consumes, but
only partially, lunar
face still visible
~ ~ ~
massive waves approach
threatening great destruction
~ ~ ~
winds howl, tearing trees
from rich soil, leaving them prone
playgrounds for children
~ ~ ~
molten stone oozes
slow, consuming everything
leaves earth a wasteland
~ ~ ~
tears come unbidden
my face soon a waterfall
Dumbo died today
I last spoke with Death at Midnight.
There was no moon to light his way
and the dim glow of a single fading streetlamp.
I felt the room grow cold as he walked in
all swagger and confidence
his hood drawn up to shadow his face.
He paused at the end of my bed
and looked at me
and once more he smiled.
You are not yet ready for me.
My words startled him and he cocked his head
peering into the darkness.
What do you mean? asked Death
wringing his hands uneasily.
long enough to let him wonder
how it could be
that I continue to resist him.
Then I smiled, and pointed to the open window
to the starlit sky
framed by the branches of winter-barren trees.
He followed my gaze and frowned
before turning back to question me.
What does the sky have to do with it?
I sat up then
set my feet on the floor
and I walked to stand before him.
I replied, passing by him to stand before the window.
Death visited me again
but I refused to go with him
preferring to live.
And I knew he understood.
Another visit from Death
came just after sunset.
A crescent moon hung low in the sky.
His approach brought with it
a brisk wind to stir up
the autumn debris.
He paused as he approached,
I ignored his coming
and instead turned my face to the sky,
to the waxing moon
just beginning to illuminate the night.
He cleared his throat.
You can’t avoid me forever,
he said, his voice trying to be sinister
but only managing to be scratchy
like the leaves on the ground.
I know, I replied, and turned to face him.
But you can’t have me yet.
Death stared at me
hands shaking from his own chill.
You’re beautiful, he said.
I stared at him
taken aback by that flattery.
He pulled his hoodie tighter around his face
not letting me see him
except for his eyes.
A breath or two later
he turned away, leaving me behind.
Once more I looked to the moon,
closed my eyes,
and truly felt alive.
Part three of this series, once more inspired by the prompt at Trifecta. This week’s word: sinister.
He visited my room again,
that man in pitch black
his heavy hood and long denim
swallowing the light.
Death, not carrying a scythe and dressed in robes,
but still I knew him for who he was.
His second visit was at midday,
the sun bright in the sky
suddenly darkened by thick clouds;
a storm appearing with him.
He looked at me with apprehension
and held out one hand.
I stared for a moment before speaking.
Why do you keep trying?
I asked with a fading smile
fearful of his reply.
Death paused, looked to his trembling fingers,
I keep hoping you’ll give up.
he admitted, and his hand dropped.
You won’t though, will you?
I smiled, and his shoulders hunched.
No. I have too much left to do.
was my simple reply, not the words he longed to hear.
Death visited again today
in black denim and fleece
and reminded me how to live.
Finally managing to complete a second in a series, something I’ve always wanted to try, thanks to this week’s Trifectra challenge, which gives us black.
Death spoke to me early this morning
while it was still dark
and the chill of the autumn night
He told me he was afraid
in a voice like dry leaves scattered across the grass,
and I laughed.
What could Death fear? I asked
and he looked at me grimly
(as only Death can).
I fear the things you surround yourself with
I fear that brightness in your eyes
when you look upon those you love.
I fear the warmth that spreads through your heart
when you hear their voices,
when you feel their touch.
I fear the strength you take from a cold autumn night
and from an unrestrained storm.
When Death said these things he trembled,
cowering before me, pitiful and small.
Why do these things frighten you? I asked
and Death smiled.
Because of them I cannot touch you,
I can dance around you, taunting and jeering,
but while you are shrouded by those things
I can never embrace you.
I watched him then depart, slipping off into the cold
as dawn broke,
drawing the darkness away with him.
Death spoke with me early this morning,
and told me I am alive.
This, my first bit of writing in some time, was inspired by this week’s Trifecta challenge, and by the seasona; changes I see all around me.
Also offered up to With Real Toads’ weekly Open Link Monday, Poets United’s Poetry Pantry, and Open Link Night over at d’Verse. Click through and read some amazing words!
Note: I am humbled to know that this poem placed third in the Trifecta challenge for the week it was entered. Thanks so much!
deep alley shadows
a cover of darkness to shade dark deeds
makes silent their screams
deep alley shadows
a cloak of stillness to temper flushed skin
words of warning
painted in crimson
deep alley shadows
her final resting place, her grave
not even worthy
of a cover, of a grave
Written as a rather late response to Trifectra’s challenge this week, which gives us the word ‘alley’ and the definition: a narrow street; especially : a thoroughfare through the middle of a block giving access to the rear of lots or buildings.
there is no more room to crawl
I have reached the edge
stains on my fingers
betray my path through red mud
my nails ragged
paint flaking across the stones
pain quaking and quivering through my bones
atop the bluffs
surveying the shadows beyond
where vessels soar
where dragons roar
where I crave more
my gaze lifts above the horizon
hoping, praying, wishing and dreaming
to spy the lunar face
her corona brilliant, golden
my corneas hazy, misty
this earth breathes, trembles
willow branches brush my skin
This week’s Wordle at The Sunday Whirl gave us the words “crawl, stain, bluffs, shadows, corona, nail, vessels, brush, trembled, willow, mud, stones” and this is my result. Also linked up to With Real Toads’ open link Monday. Go on over and check out the other wonderful poets’ writing!