I am a shadow among the shadows
A silent spectator that thirsts
For blood to run freely
Condemned for eternity
A wraith and nothing more
Looking for my salvation
Between the rush of souls
Unaware of death I bring
Or is it life that I give?
She sits still and in silence
watching the blank screen
empty like her mind,
the cursor blinks tauntingly
again and again and again
waiting impatiently for her fingers
to start dancing on the keys
to spill her thoughts, her memories,
the blood of her enemies
it waits for a confession,
her damning admission
yet she sits there, watching,
I know I’ve been behind with my daily poetry but I will try to do more today.
Promises are whispered into the night
uttered sacred, her trust you gain
but with all the professions of love,
and the intimate caresses, you lied
little by little, until she believes
the honeyed words you whisper
upon her eagerly waiting ears
those stolen nights, in each other’s arms
all an illusion, a story you created
for her eyes to see, heart to dream of
and you laugh in silence at this easy prey
lying in your web, cocooned in a fantasy
a food for your hunger and your desires
-The Elusive Scribe 03102017-
Dark clouds descend upon the unsuspecting minds
the glare of the computer screen is the only light
paying obeisance to the words of faceless people
attaching to them, hungry for a savior
Who we are no longer matters,
we have become slaves of alternate reality
any voice that calls louder becomes our master
while the ones in our heads fade into nothing
Blindly we go on with our lives,
trapped in a nightmare of our own doing
puppet heads on positions of power
who to blame but us, the nation?
For, sadly, we no longer know who we are,
consumed by the thoughts of the hungry masses,
soulless we have become, indifferent to each other’s plight
silent and cold, our true voices no longer heard.
-The Elusive Scribe 03082017-
She lies still in her bed
a bier of forgotten memories
no stranger to death
she sleeps, dreamless
porcelained skin shining
upon red satin sheets
the call of blood ever grows
stirring from within
waiting for the sun to sleep
for the night is her master
and he beckons from the shadows
-The Elusive Scribe 03082017-
A collaboration of some sorts with a close friend of mine. Hope you like it. 🙂
Is there a place where we could blur the lines?
Disconnect and reconnect the things that break us?
Half truths brought to light to form new bonds.
Twisted paths erased and made anew.
An image manufactured in a weightless room
like questions caught up in a telephone wire
like shadows decorating the corridors of our past
and yet i’m falling slowly.
To that blissfull darkness that beckons
enveloped in silence carrying me onwards.
To the farthest corners where I may find
a reprieve for my wandering soul.
A place where silence echoes beyond all reasons
where seconds divide themselves half-heartedly.
A place where a place is not really a place,
forever and ever,
and ever and ever.
-GMU/The Elusive Scribe 013013-
She writes of her dreams on every page of her book,
her mindless scribbling echoing in the day.
By night she sits by the fire reading her jumbled thoughts,
putting together fragments of images in her mind,
until they become a story she can tell,
to the friendly shadows that wait.
She beckons them to come closer,
the darkness where her friends hide.
You can see the blackness pressing in on her,
yet she smiles that knowing smile,
the fire from the hearth still glowing bright.
She opens her mouth to tell her tale,
of shadows that whisper old forgotten tales.
You can feel the darkness basking in delight.
She remembers them you see, especially how they came to be,
the darkness that you and I fear,
when we were young with imagination running free.
She speaks of forgotten lore and magic spells,
of languages long gone and broken,
threading her whispered tales upon the crackling flame,
the darkness slowly backing away.
For the night is done and her words are all slurred.
Tonight she will dream again and tomorrow she will write.
-The Elusive Scribe 020713-