|Randomly selected from my gallery.|
Out of the black lodge...It lurks in the dank, dark heart of the woods,Out of the black lodge... by CouchyCreature
attracting all that slinks, crawls and slithers in the night.
Pushing cold into the bones and nightmares into the
heads of children, who wake crying with fear and creeping
to their parent's beds for comfort.
In the morning it will be gone. It feeds on hope and once hope is gone,
it moves on. It must, because the hope does not return.
Those who lose it know that it is lost forever and they will no more
see the joy in life. When they laugh, their laughter is hollow, like their eyes.
Their easy smiles at seeing a loved one are replaced by a
quick glimpse over their shoulder, to be sure no one is close. No more
are strangers welcomed to their hearth, and their houses
seem to echo with the emptiness of occupants long gone.
He dreams awakeHe dreams awake,He dreams awake by CouchyCreature
and waking, the visions stay.
They've come back. He can't see them, or hear them.
He just knows they're there.
Softly, softly, they move soundlessly from point to point,
as if mapping a boundary mostly unseen, in a shadowland of shadow play.
He wasn't afraid ...not much anyway.
He'd felt their presence before.
They'd been there swooping and soaring on silent wings,
casting no shadows in a midday sun.
He didn't know then that the voices would come later.
Tiny little piping voices, that at first he didn't understand,
like the meaningless chatter of city cafeterias.
But soon the stories emerged. Soaring stories, stories of hardships and tribulations,
of unlimited joys and jubilation, of pride and power, of kindness
...and later, of cruelty.
He sees, in his mind, the land far below. Feels the driving need of his search.
Somewhere below, that for which he searches wanders unsuspecting and unaware,
like he, before the changes.
Prima FacieDistressed by love,Prima Facie by CouchyCreature
turned to pornography or joke
in the hands of the evil
and feeble minded.
Isolated in the office
with devices that imitate true communication,
or dealing with smiles
motivated by money or business
or other less obvious agendas,
turn it on, turn it off.
Homewards - the initial shivered moment of fear
as you put the key in the lock,
like a genetic memory.
Lights on, alarm off, answering machine reports on command.
Advising of meetings delayed, apppointments confirmed.
Tired, you eat - canned Navy beans, easy in some bland and unidentifiable sauce.
Then, late night television news from everywhere but here.
Still no real conversations (nor even a cat, rubbing and demanding).
Glistening water lights, reflecting the blue of neon,
the soft cushioning that comes with tonic and lime and damask sheets.
Piano unplayed, rugs never fucked on
...sleep to the newsreaders and the unheard hum of the city.
I woke thinking of youI woke thinking of you, wishing that when I finally chose to open my eyes, I would see your head on the pillow beside me, be able to snuggle into your body and smell your skin ...a heady mix of subtle pheremones, perspiration and the more lingering ingredients of the perfumes you wear.I woke thinking of you by CouchyCreature
|Words as I find them.|