Please check out my short story sequel to the classic myth
on Wattpad. 7 short chapters. Leave a like or comments! A shortstory sequel to the classic myth.
Please check out my short story sequel to the classic myth
on Wattpad. 7 short chapters. Leave a like or comments! A shortstory sequel to the classic myth.
What is it that keeps
your heart in chains
of darkness, graves,
voids, abysses,
and things
that cut and kill and burn?
Do not your
sleep-filled eyes
behold the sun?
the clouds?
the stars?
What calls your mind
to embrace
the gibbering shadows
that dance in
ever-tightening circles,
venturing up
to block your view of heaven,
laying waste to your
body and mind?
Yet in you
is the seed of song,
of love,
creativity.
Work the fire.
Forge the axe
that sunders darkness
with light
and sets you free.
Prey,
tell us you
are game.
I pour the blood
from my heart
This ink
This lead
These pixels
Resurrected in
the empty church
of my life
Briefly seen,
my life imagined
as I once saw it
Fleeting
the feelings
of my flesh,
the senses of
my being
I kneel
in the empty, fragrant
darkness
The small wooden window
that leads to where I toss my sins
like wedding rice
never opens
I say them
all the same
They pile
like decaying petals
at my feet
multi-hued
multi-faceted
radiant with putrescence
They smell of illicit love
drunken torture
anger and loneliness
rage and despair
I press them to my heart
to stop the bleeding
absolving myself
resolving never to do
these things again
And so the risen sun
forgives me
But I have chosen death.
You hold the knife
as one holds
a fallen fledgling,
Your eyes command my approach,
and as I shuffle,
the shackles sing a
discordant, jangling dirge
I weep,
but whether for my soul
or for your cruelty,
I cannot say.
I held you.
Kissed you.
Loved you.
Sang you to sleep in my arms.
Your smile transfixed me,
and the hidden coils of your flesh
felt warm in my hands.
Your lying mouth
wrought cries from the core of me.
And like fresh clay
you molded me into a sacrifice,
Sharpened your knife
on your heart of stone.
Pray make it quick, love.
I will wait for you
in the
frozen abyss…
The beacon skims
the waves
but no ships sail
this hour of night
A false dawn lights
the horizon, and
obsidian skies blush pale
as the stars shine
their last
My small lantern
battles
what shadows it can tame.
The rest wait their turn
The mulled wine
warms the bones
and softens the edges
of harsh memories
My breathing,
the scratch of the pen,
the sizzling pop of an oil bubble
sound all the louder
at this hour
Far below,
waves whisper
susurrations
of sighs
The keepers of
the past
watch from
realms unseen,
but whether in
approval or censure,
I can’t tell.
Either way,
I’m undone.
A red gold band
of light
sears the seam of
the horizon
I finish the wine.
I finish the page,
and close my eyes
to the sweet brightness
And once more
the walls crumble
to ruin,
the light
dies,
and I fade
like the names
of lovers
drawn in the sand
before high tide.
I write
in the
shadowed places
cold, bleak
and dark
Stepping on cracks in the sidewalk
full of cigarette butts,
phlegmatic spit
and on occasion,
blood
There are crevices
in the fences too,
where the wind whistles
off key,
enticing me
to emerge
and share.
And I want to,
I so very want to,
and know that I
so very
never will
The silent shadows
comfort me,
drape their darkness
across my shoulders
like the powerful arm
of a strong friend
I shift and settle,
a bag of garbage
kicked in the corner,
under a wedge of dim, flickering light
from a faulty streetlamp,
the wires humming in
off key harmony
with the whistling wind
Come out to play, poet…
‘No,’ I reply to the invitation,
now no longer content to be in
the shadows.
I melt into them.
My words spin
out and away,
beyond my control,
into the vast, black
void of heaven.
And I write
in the
shadowed places