Wrote these 3 within about an hour period, one while sitting at home on the computer late and night, the other 2 at work. Thoughts?
Funeral pyre of ashes,
a scar on the verdant grove.
The charred flakes a macabre irony,
the the lustrous petals that usually dot the floor.
Death and decay, pestilent gorings of nature.
A bleak mark on the untouched forest.
Alas, stirred within the ashes of lost,
new life is awakened.
No acquiescence to the tentative bar placed over rebirth.
Slowly rising from its impromptu grave,
majesty hovers in air.
The crackle of burning leaves,
playing the overture of resurrection.
The flame rises skyward and takes flight,
reminding of the beauty that proceeds destruction.
A lonely figure stands
cement floors flank his solemn pose.
Translucent flesh illumined by a sole source of light.
Cold fluorescence permates the room.
Harsh and unforgiving, showing gnarled cane and white hair.
with a startled gasp the man falls to a knee,
arm outstretched to break his fall.
With a crack his forearm shatters,
blinding agony wracking his form.
Slumping onto his back, he stares skyward.
The light above him flickers, and with a spark fades.
Darkness once more conquers light,
and with a wry smile the man closes his eyes for the last time.
Nine.
Hooded shapes circled 'round a murky pool.
The sun makes its hasty retreat toward the horizon.
Long shadows thrown by the fading light.
Rising incantations echo through the forest,
melodic song of a lost tongue.
A breeze starts, steadily gaining strength.
The chorus' song highlighted now,
rustling leaves, rhythmic lapping of waves.
The figures reach a crescendo,
an exultant note blares out.
At once silence falls,
more deafening than the song.
Lights wink into existence at the waters edge.
Slowly they coalesce,
slowly spiraling toward the center.
Convergence.
The orb descends into the swamp,
water blackened by its touch.
A dull thunder rumbles,
the earth tears itself asunder.
A form caked in filth slowly rises from the murk.
Arms outstretched to its sides.
Divinity incarnate.
The figures fall, prostrated at the sight of their god.
Eyes slowly open,
abyssmal pits of endless hate.
Shadow leaks from its sockets,
the grime instantly dissolved.
A lithe figure now hovers above the water,
porcelain flesh accented by a snow white mane.
Body devoid of sexuality,
face grinning in sadistic ecstasy.
An arm reaches out and heralds destruction.
One by one the nine fall; visages twisted with glee.
the god lowers itself toward the ground,
divine descent.
The forest withers as it lands.
So starts the triumphant march,
reveling in what has been wrought.
Decay and pestilence follow in its wake.
the Harbinger of Blight has delivered its message.
17 Sep 2008, 10:16 am
