Ornaments

Art by Lisa Steinberg

You’ve been carried off, a distance unrecognizable,

Smells putrid, as it enters, your fragile senses,

A damp, almost transparent cloth, snuggly fastened

Around you, rendering you blind, to the horror

Before you, so you strain sight, constructing the scene,

But all that appears, are blurry shapes, dancing

Like apparitions, and the more you stare, more appear,

With an even larger object, in the center, wooden

Compared to the floating blurs, yet it’s presence

Slithers down your spine, icy tremors, from within

Intensely pounds upon your chest, as darkness takesover,

You abruptly awake, with the sudden burst, of your heartbeat,

The blindfold, gone, and you slowly fix focus,

Upon the center subject, who, from stolen gasping moments,

Is slowly constructing ornaments, the same ones, dangling

In your crowded view, its clear, except for the intent,

Of the individual, with a pale sack hiding it’s identity,

You feel cold inside, as sight has choked your speech,

It completes the ornament in its possession, and suspends

It above both of you, gently flicks it as it swings,

Lifeless, only gaining momentum from your own scream,

How do you suppress the howling terrors that emanate

From your trembling cage, locked in by your own doubt,

Starring at you as you shiver, the black hollow outlets

Are consuming you, taking away your stability

As you slip further, past the gates of inescapable sanity,

The more you stare, the more you see, the center subject

Is actually you, slowly deconstructing your fortified self.

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Monstrous Tale

A monster among strained souls
Far beyond, the moon’s horizon,
Yet, illuminated is the sinister
Orchestrated by this beast,
Stretching it’s grasp over the land,
Word of this growling shadow
Quickly pervades the glooming ruins,
Stricken, with fear amongst dying light,
Huddled together in muffled breaths
As slow, thunderous steps
Crack the floor above the frightened,
Pulsing through the solemn echoes
Of shaking whimpers, the monster,
Claims its victims, shredding existence
In the embers of a smoldering night,
Far into the bleak stripped town, lies
What all dread, a crushing loss
Haunting the endings hanging by string,
While scraps of a pendulum, decays
Slowly in it’s pit, beckoning for light
To flush out the horror residing
In the deep nightshade of my mind, Taking a sip, from the brimming cup,
Aiding me in my transmogrification
Into what has terrorized, this empty village,
Into what has bled fear, in cold eyes
Resting below my growling thunder.

©DorianPoe 2015

Awoken by Fear

He whispers out to her, from nowhere,
Terrified of the shadow
Cast by a stalking reach,
The glow emanating from beyond
It’s stance,
Entrancing her closer,
Trembling, in the warmth of it’s breath
She looks down
Watching, her feet move
Against her own resistance,
She knows she’s at the door
Of it’s stolen domain,
She feels it’s presence crushing her
So much, no sound echoes
When she opens her mouth,
The sleek brush upon her arm
Makes every hair stand at full attention,
She shoves, whips the door closed,
Runs to her bed and finally shrieks!

Her mother sloshes into the room
Sits beside her little girl,
Assures her that there are no monsters, Kisses her on the forehead
And tucks her in.

The closet door creeks open,
As a hand slithers down it’s side,
Stirring the fragile silence
While keeping her, in the gates
Of the monster’s eye.