My demons

A flickering candle on an empty highway

light my way into a sunrise

for the dead walk in the shadows,

and the ghosts fly in the moonlight

but my demons,

I walk with,

on the inside

 

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Passing souls

The dimming lights, 

A flickering candle on an empty highway

Darts a wagon

Killing it’s flame, 

Rising, 

The smoke of the passing souls 

HOW TO THANK YOU

i find no words for the gratitude,

to define my sincere appreciation

to the humble and honest readers of my blog

THANK YOU!

really, thank you!

 

I remember the early times, my first poem

https://drresolved.wordpress.com/2016/03/15/mother-and-daughter/

written for a friend who has grown all her life with her mother having lost her father while still young. I desired to capture the love and pain between, the cautious advice of her mother truly intended for her daughter to live a better life.

I honestly do not know how well I did, but like I said, it was my first.

I have been writing for about a year now, changing styles and stuff, faced writer’s blocks too, erased way too many works before publishing but kept on.

 

When I read some of my work I wonder, did I really write this?

https://drresolved.wordpress.com/2017/06/25/the-bride-in-a-black-dress/

https://drresolved.wordpress.com/2017/06/25/lust/

How to explain I do not know, but I become gratified, and remember this has been a journey of many adventures and wish to continue with you all.  Thank you!

 

 

 

 

A man dreams

​The world is such a big place

The running skies into the seas

And the speck of dust on a ship’s flag, soaked in a nights cold,

It’s weight dragging it down  into the oblivion of a worthless sea tide

The triviality of our concerns, our own existence versus the  value of life, is a man his dreams?

The knights of darkness

Sleep stands a few steps away from me
Watching my pathetic body cycle in weary
My mind aching in ceaseless frenzy

After long hours of a short day,
Counted two at most,
That slowly passed like two long dull centuries

I was reading, vampire chronicles,
Buried between the black ink and papers,
In the great imagery of fine wording

The beautiful scenery of dim evenings,
Masked by moonlights and lanterns
Along streets of the late eighteenth century

An artistic painting it seemed,
Old fashioned, tailored coats and hats,
Queued in long lines awaiting the curtains of the Opera

When theatre truly boiled blood in human veins,
The excitement, delight, clever poetry
Written softly on tender walls of their hearts

Listening carefully at the sounds,
Wagon wheels on tiny rocks of the dark streets,
Through alleys where stray cats made their little roars

There were gasps of terror,
swift advances like a wind,
Cold, that death smelt in the dump air

Then, screams of the fading,
Echoing on walls of moonless nights,
As their skins turned white within the reaper’s grip

Inescapable, truly before the face of death
Creatures of the night, lone predators
The knights of darkness

Beautiful, ain’t it?
Fascinating, the metallic smell of fresh blood,
Dripping from sharp canines, a fresh kill!

Ah, I felt the hunger, and truly did,
But was lost to this world,
Oblivious to my own problems, “food”

That now, dark, you understand,
Why I can’t leave this house to find “food”
And can’t drift smoothly into that pool of sleep “nightmares.”

Ah, nightmares! Hunger!

~sad ~

Nights of regret

The warm covers that wrap my frozen heart,
A dark night searching the frail bones of my soul,
As my eyes peer into its blinding folds,
Ushering my fears on trays of delicacies
My nightmares lying next to my unmoving body

I feel the cold touch of their skin,
Like scales of fresh fish,
Out a frozen lake of winter tears,
The moaning voices of savaged souls,
And screaming poignantly, their lonely mothers on coastal shores

So, I grip tightly,
My sweaty palms bleeding on white sheets,
The wrinkles of a tie and dye,
Painting my lonely and endless battles,
With these nights of regret

Pebbles on lonely shores

Words of love drift a thousand miles,
The sound of each letter fading with a wave
Silently on coastal sands,
Sweeping pebbles of our marriage

Once a solid rock,
Raised high and strong,
Holding out against all heights of tides,
As they smashed its thick and sharp edges,

Always cutting through all curtains of fabrications
Laid cunningly by serpentine souls
And the warm heat of the sun,
That burnt us through summer

But the earthquakes of betrayal,
Ships wrecked on massive rocks,
The tiny fragments at the sea bottom
And the beautiful pebbles on lonely shores

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