Poetry | Stories | Photography
The waning fire smoulders
They gather in the distance
voices from another time
deep shapes move towards the fire
shapeshifting metamorphoses
gather strength outside the circle
waves of gooseflesh stir the spirit
light and drums beat in the distance
from the cursed forest cathedral
spinning around you
silken shadows moving fast
bend reality
A dark room,
the smell of roses and
breathing from the bed.
Alone and waiting,
wanting to touch;
quickening from the bed.
A touch in the dark,
the room melts away, and
so do the sheets, the clothes.
A play of shadows;
moonlight from the skylight,
ecstasy in the dark.
In the quiet of the night,
I hear the whispers faint.
There are created noises,
but there’s the noise of it.
Images of what once was,
but now is something else.
The noises do grow louder,
as my pounding head spills.
Your shadow soul calls,
so I move to your ghost.
In the quiet of the night,
I kiss your corpse lightly.
C & K 