A Storm is Coming.

A storm is coming.
Do you hear it?
Do you feel it?
That tremor beneath your feet
and the grumble of the beast.
Hiding in the dark.
Breathing fast
it descends upon us at last
salivating.
Mouth open wide
there is nowhere to hide.
Engulfing the weak
and chilling the brave
it moves like a wave.
Across the feast.
But eating so fast could never quite last.
So with one last belch and slurp of the tongue
the beast is done.
Shrinking and creeping
like a mouse in a silent house.
Waiting to grow
and descend upon the land once again.

 

storm1

 

Hidden & Bitten

The house was once bright
It’s rooms
With its walls and floors
Were flooded with light.
The doors were unlocked
The windows had a view
Everything was so new

If only I knew
The things I could do
In a house
So light
So bright
And so new.

A year crept by
Or maybe it was five
The house doesn’t feel so alive
Anymore.
Sometimes I lock the door
And lose the key
And sometimes I see shadows crawl
On my bedroom wall
These days I struggle to see
The view
And the trees
Which slowly die
In front of me
For the windows have grown tired
Their eyelids half closed
Slowly falling deep
In sleep

If only I saw
The world a little more
If only I saw
Something more
Than empty halls
And dusty floors.

I don’t want to stay in this house
Anymore
Stay away
I pray to those who come too near
This house is a place to fear
So please don’t come too close
To this haunted house

I hear moaning through these walls
Words of discontent
Which echo around
Inside my head

I have felt the Dracula’s bite
Felt the hope
Drain away from my body
Throughout the night

I see ghosts
Wandering these halls
Distasteful reminders of regret
Dead but yet
So alive
They survive
So I can never
Forget.

These nights I sleep with the covers over my head
Because I know the dead
Are coming from under my bed.
They want to drive me insane
To gnaw and nibble and dribble
Upon my brain.

Am I a fool
To run from the ghoul
Who licks its lips
Like a cat
About to attack
The helpless mouse inside this house?
It knows this place
And it quickens its pace
With every drop of doubt
I sweat.

When did I become the prey
Within my own home?
Will I ever find a place to lay
A place to pray
In peace?
Piece by piece
I will pull down these walls
Thrust open these doors
And leave.

This house has been my home
For too long
I was wrong when I said
If only I knew
The things I could do
In a house
So light
So bright
And so new.

A house is nothing but a point on a map
A quick place to nap
Before we wake and make
Another large leap deep
Into discomfort

A house does not grow.
And it does not throw
Opportunity in your direction.
So don’t be slow.
To let go.

Don’t be slow to throw
Yourself outside.
Go.
The doors are open wide.

The Boy at the Snow

I felt like writing something, I’m a little bored, so here we go. A young boy is at the snow surrounded by a hazy glow. On the chairlift, rising above the snowdrift. Where is it taking him? He really doesn’t know. He can’t see through the heavy snow. So up, up he will go. Sitting next to the boy is a man he doesn’t know. After a while the man with not a bit of his face showing asks “where are you going?”. The boy replies saying “somewhere with a better view, where it is no longer snowing”. The man questions him “and how do you know that the view is better where you’re going?”. The boy shuffles on his seat “I, I don’t know…” he stutters, “but I have faith”. The hidden smile on the man begins to grow as they continue riding the lift up together in the heavy snow.

boy at snow