It's time to go home...

The road stretches out, endlessly, a golden mile too far,

that the thought of moving forward

is as appealing as yesterday’s feast,

congealed and encrusted in the sink,

the remains now lying rotten at the pit of your stomach

in the breaking dawn.

For your soul is just too scarred

to see the beauty of the mountain range hovering on the horizon,

and the wounds too raw to appreciate

the fresh sea air drifting just past their peak.

And by a force not your own,

you slow down, come to a halt

at the roadside at the edge of tall waving grass.

You open the door,

not bothering to close it behind you,

and start walking into the wilderness.

Slowly, tentatively at first,

then your steps start to quicken.

Faster and faster.

Each stride longer than the last

as you try to outrun

all the thoughts whirling in your head,

to leave behind the memories,

the words that still echo in your ear,

the touch of the hand that's still warm on your back,

and the tears that flowed freely down your cheeks,

as recently as today.

And you come to halt at the furiously flowing river.

You stare at the torrent and the angry rushing water,

and you wonder if you'll take that step,

into the maelstrom of oblivion.

To bring an end to the infinite torture your mind has subjected you to,

induced by the realisation

that that which you’ve lived

was the design of another’s creation,

and you were just along for the ride,

while they operated the controls.

You were but a puppet

at the hands of the master of manipulation and deception,

which you were too naïve,

too gullible,

too trusting

to see.

And the thought of redeeming their soul

and to carry on is just too much to bear,

too much to put behind,

so you take that step into the yielding, ice-cold mud

as the wind tears at your hair

and the skies cry with you

and you wait for the current

to lay claim to your soul,

as you welcome the coming silence.

It’s time to go home…

picture credit: http://fc03.deviantart.net/fs39/i/2008/314/1/9/Movements_between_the_silence_by_vampire_zombie.jpg

Shimmering warmth

The room is filled with gently flickering candlelight

while entrancing scents waft through the air,

capturing the melodious voices, sparkling with laughter,

enchanted by the music that's caressing their soul.

And its through this haze of shimmering warmth

that I watch you from a distance,

your movements, your lips,

your eyes that dance,

that stir awake a longing,

borne from the touch of long and hot nights

spent at the mercy of your love,

now teasing the edge of my consciousness,

driving a desire to own your flesh once again.

I watch, mesmerized, as your eyes lift, infinitely slow,

before locking my eyes with an intent

running invisible fingers lazily down my spine,

delivering promises, bent of fulfilling,

the need that's written in my eyes...

picture credit: http://ns1.flash-screen.com/free-wallpaper/uploads/200804/imgs/1207830916_1024x768_lovers-on-the-window.jpg

55 - my soul is bleeding

In these minutes past the hour

of the darkest time of the night,

my soul is weeping

for the dreams discarded,

carelessly flung into the flaming sunset

of a shattered reflection.

And my soul is bleeding

for the trust betrayed,

sullied by the kisses at New Year's turn,

from the one with the poisoned tongue.

picture credit: http://browse.deviantart.com/?q=broken&order=9&offset=24&offset=72#/d1p9fik

every friday, compose a short story of 55 words - no more, no less. if you want to join in the fun and games and give it a try...post your story and report to the boss G-Man

Wasted promises

I’m shocked by the tears that are falling like rain

when I see what is really behind

the façade you’ve created, and had me believe,

to be you, the one whom I love.

And an icy hand grips my heart,

twists while a knife

shreds the years into wasted promises,

as I see my existence

shimmer like a mirage,

when the mind of a trickster erases my reality

and reveals the barren wasteland

of a life that is but a charade.

picture credit: http://www.onextrapixel.com/2010/04/26/80-rain-photography-taken-by-talented-photographers/

The silence of the shadows

Breathe a deep sigh in the silence of the shadows,

become still as you drink in the night,

savor the solitary moments alone

with the magical touch of moonlight.

Feel as it weaves through you, cleansing your thoughts,

removing the grit and the grime

that's tainting your vision, containing your soul,

in the distance the old church bells chime.

Watch as the ribbons untie and fall,

one by one, they allow your release,

and you soar into velvety arms that reign

in a space of content that won't cease.

So as this day nods its head towards the dusk,

I welcome the coming night,

brought by the heavens, kissed by the stars,

to this dark I submit without fight.

picture credit: http://i1.trekearth.com/photos/43024/moonlight_stair.jpg

Escaping the madness

Distress builds a cloud in these once carefree eyes,

overwhelming the need to erect a disguise,

remove from the consciousness these blatant lies

and withdraw to the edge of the world.

Where the silky soft silence surrounds like a cloak,

shrouding your presence behind opaque smoke,

the phony carousing releases the yoke

of deception that smothers your soul.

And you breathe icy air yet unspoiled by the grime

of the souls that are lost, where the moon doesn't shine,

where the power that rules is a maze in forged time,

where alone, you uncurl from this haze.

picture credit: http://images2.layoutsparks.com/1/146554/solitude-full-moon-night.jpg

The fall of the crimson curtain

Murmuring their dissent are the voices of the night,

'wakening latent fears that take from the moon its soothing light,

whilst the shadows, in a trance, paint disturbing pictures black,

on the walls within your heart, that now plunder and ransack

all the order you've created in the shambles of your life,

as they rip with sharpened edge through this canvas with a knife,

bringing fresh blood to the surface of the mirror-smooth reflection

that was gazing at the world, in its place a crimson curtain.

picture credit: http://images2.layoutsparks.com/1/40783/cry-blood-red-tears.jpg

Whispers

And thus we find ourselves,

hovering,

on the edge of the world,

lingering on the brink between darkness and light.

And it's here that we share

our sorrows and our thrills,

our dreams and our regrets,

all the while drifting

closer and closer,

'til we breathe the same breath,

think the same thoughts,

before melting as one to the ill-ordained whispers of the wind.

But the wind that blows,

blows in cold with the breaking dawn,

burning away the fevered promises,

blistering the dreams we so briefly dreamt,

reducing our joy to a heap of dry ashes now drifting away in this wind.

...as the voices from the dark side bewitch and enchant.

Gilded sureties flowing from their glib and faithless tongue,

broken words promising to return the heat into our veins

while a nothingness fills our sleepless dreams

in a void of numb surrender.

Yet when we eventually still we'll hear

the forming dewdrops in the silence of the dawn.

And as the first light, with its steadfast warmth

thaws the icy cold that has gripped our hearts in a vice,

defrosting the immobility of our senseless mind,

nudges us to stand up on this fragile ledge

and turn away from the pervading gloom;

towards our choices, emerging, shy as a shimmer,

freeing our spirit, our sight and our soul,

as our shadowy bonds dissolve.

picture credit: http://isik5.deviantart.com/art/One-Door-Away-From-Heaven-HDR-134619564?offset=10