Beware the Dark.

Beware the Light.

Every Horror and Fear,

You’ll find, living here.

Watch the Shadows.

Watch the Stone.

The lonely ones hunt,

In your mind, confront.

Know when to run.

Know when to hide.

Some shadows eat at the mind,

Others, to the flesh are inclined.

Tell the living from the dead.

Tell the dead from the false.

Those that walk, may spew plague,

The dead are far more vague.

Reality will twist.

Reality will break.

Before the break of day,

Some, for swift Death, will pray.

A single flower, lay upon these darkened shores.

Beneath the soft light of Stars and Moon,

the sound of waves, washes gently ashore

and the pale, fragile being, gazes skyward silently.

As I walk, lost in shadowed musings,

a cool breeze caresses the shining dunes.

The lone flower sighs into the wind.

Twinkling stars are lost in black petals,

splayed out, around porcelain and jade.

…

I sit beside the lone beauty.

A sweet scent mixes with the salty ocean air,

as I gaze sadly, upon my lonely flower.

She reaches up, with arms an ethereal glow,

and we embrace; a long forgotten touch.

These nights alone, on our sleeping strands,

are our bitter-sweet moments of respite,

where we can hide, amongst our dreams.

…

Watching the familiar sky,

I hear the all-too-familiar sigh;

a soft cry, a  prayer, unto the night.

The grief I feel is as hers.

We watch the sky brighten with the coming morn;

however hard we try, we cannot stop the light.

We say our tearful goodbyes.

She returns to her land of dark and sorrow,

and I, to my shining, gold abode.

Night Dancer.

The sound of walking in the dark;

a gasp, a drop, a start.

The sight of walking in the dark;

a shadow, a mirror, a heart.

Whimpering, nothing and everything

surrounds the view.

Crying, the sound of strange phantasms

loom over the trapped.

…

The smell of walking in the dark;

a metallic, a poison, a rotting.

The taste of walking in the dark;

a sour, an acrid, a burning.

Shaking, all imagined beings

leave their unique taste of fear.

Quaking, the odor of unknown fumes

reach for the lost.

…

The feel of walking in the dark;

a fear, a pain, a noose.

Screaming, the walls lean in

as breathing beasts.