Two Macabre Poems

These will probably be the last two poems of the year unless I write some more. They’re a bit macabre and likely would fall into the category of dark fantasy.

A-Hunting She Will Go…

She sleeps the day away in peaceful slumber,
her breath a nonexistent wisp, her skin
so cold you’d swear that she was dead. But when
nightfall comes, her eyelids flutter, come
to life. She rises slowly, like a damsel
kissed. Her yawn could stretch for miles; thin
arms crinkle like old parchment dried by wind
enchanted by the gods and long-entombed.
The night is hers—this night is hers—and she
embraces it with relish. She becomes
the night, becomes the nightmare, the scream….
She floats atop the stone floor like a dream
that never ends. But soon the dawn will come….
Her time is short, and she must hurry, hurry….

© 2014, all rights reserved.

Morning

The full moon lingers,
as unseeing as Polyphemus’
half-shuttered eye.

A howl—belated, mournful,
not-quite-human—trundles
through the fetid hills.

A crisp dawn drenched
in sweat simmering up from
the bog-infested lowlands.

The chill air whispers
knowing secrets across
bare, hairless skin.

I shiver, goose flesh
subsiding with the rising
of the naked sun.

© 2014, all rights reserved.

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