Hidden Scapes

Tags

A killing, Behind closed doors, Chill-factor, Dark, Dark in white, Dead or alive, Fear, Fiction, Foreboding, Grey, In broad daylight!, Magpie Tales, Mystery, Sharp, Story, Suspense, Winter

Image Credits: Tess Kincaid @ Magpie Tales

What the trees so strong
Could not feel
Was a touch so wrong
That made her keel

What the breeze that blew
Could not know
Was a chill that grew
Behind that door

What the birds that chirped
Could not hear
Was a soul usurped
By bouts of fear

What the sunlit yard
Could not smell
Was a heart too charred
To lose or sell

What the tongues of cold
Could not taste
Was the bitter mold
On hatred’s waste

What the whites outside
Could not see
Was the red inside
Spilt by her tea

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**Posted for Magpie Tales – Week 52… Check it out for more magic made with this prompt… **

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Surrender: A self-fulfilling prophecy

Tags

Combating fear, Fear, Losing, Lost, No fight, One Shot Wednesday, One Stop Poetry, Surrender, Timid, Yielding to one's fears

Image Credits: 54ka@DeviantArt.com

The fear of rejection
Keeps him from loving
So he goes on shoving
Aside care and affection

Only to further char
The depth of his burning scar

The fear of a downfall
Keeps him from soaring
Flying or exploring
E’er leaving him to crawl

Only to further slide
Into dungeons where souls died

The fear of shadows dark
Keeps him from the lights
And much away from nights
Lest ghosts on him embark

Only to further walk
Down paths of tumult and shock

The fear of chaos dense
Keeps him from life’s fun
He’s always on the run
Forever foul and tense

Only to further scurry
Towards fields of pain and worry

The fear of all his fears
Keeps him from trying
For he’s too busy denying
The reason for his tears

Only to further flee
And sink in his own enraged sea

 

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**Posted for One Shot Wednesday – Week 30… To open a chest of poetic treasures, do check this out! **

Manifestation – Yes? No? Maybe?

Tags

Dream, Fear, Imagination, Inhibition, Manifestation, Nightmare, Shadows, Terrible, Thought, Threat

I see a bird
An enormous, frightening bird of prey
Perched on the sharp edge of a rock
Its focused, beady eyes looking down
The large talons clutching something…
Something trembling
I see a hand

The bird swiftly dips its head
Digs a pointed beak
Into the skin on the hand
Blood gushes from this new wound
There are many such wounds
The hand’s now pale
It belongs to a body still alive…

The bird is looking for more
The hand suddenly moves
Blood dripping from fingertips
Like water off a rag wrung hard
The hand attempts to reach someplace
To the face…

I can almost see the face now…
Yes, I see it
It’s mine!
But how can I be there, dying,
When I am here, alive?
Or am I?

Is it only a mirror?
But it’s all in rusty sepia
Is it an image?
Is it a movie with my face in it?
Maybe it’s a nightmare I’ll snap out of soon…
Or is it?

I still see the bird…
Its eyes, its beak, its bloody talons
Only, it’s not a bird anymore
It’s a person
A gaunt wretch
My hand is no longer bleeding
But trembling nevertheless

Then I vanish
Where did I go?
The man begins to laugh…
A shrill, satanic laugh
He walks to his pet, the bird
Strokes it gently with his wiry hands
He lets out another horrific laugh

I still don’t see me
Where am I?
Am I lost?
Or in the shadows?
Am I hiding behind the skeleton of the tree?
Or beneath that threadbare rag?
Maybe it was a dream after all…

Or… was it??