The waves engulf the sea shore
leaving a burst of salted water droplets;
Some rise, some fall,
some just follow the air blindly.
A cool breeze that hugs the body
so tightly and comforting,
a moment to enjoy what remains unseen.
The sun slowly peeking through the clouds
Like a shy boy,
who is finally asking his crush for a dance.
It shows its face and then at night it seeks retreat;
A reminder of how time changes,
from sunrise to sunset,
following its own rhythmic beat.
The birds are singing a happy tune,
Gliding with friends and letting their bodies be free.
Sun rays gracing the skin,
Polishing it like a brand-new jewel.
Everything is flourishing with life;
The land, the sea, the sky,
they are all alive,
for with hope, anything is within reach.
About the Creator
Ali SP
Ali has found a renewed passion for reading and creating. It is now a form of expression for her– another creative outlet which she works to improve upon.
https://www.instagram.com/art.ismyrefuge/
At the Sheltering Doors
The doors, they always scrambled for the doors first. When they arrive and always by night it was a race to desperately bar the creatures entry to the house in the slow crawl of numb feet that the dream would impose upon him. He never seemed fast enough and the creatures uninhibited by the same constraints always made the doors first. The houses in his dream-scapes vary night to night - Some are mansions, others shacks and some are distorted contortions of his childhood home which burned down when he was ten. But the doors are always the same – frail, loose hinged and never could be fully shut. The creatures too vary – twisted and corrupted forms of animals and people familiar to him: family dogs preternaturally swollen to twice their size with rotting coats of mange and slicked damp with dark liquids of decay. The people too were bloated vestiges of ones vaguely familiar to him but whose names escape him. Their eyes gorged wide with dark blood which streaked their mottled faces in crusted trails like lost rivers which hung from their chins swinging in ropy columns beneath paling yellowed teeth. To let them break through would mean death. This he knew with grave certainty. At the door was desperation and panic as their stench emanated forth, sickly and pungent like vomit and mold and ending in a gruesome exhalation like cancer, the stench sticky and clinging invading his nostrils and lungs never to be expunged. Then in the sudden waking he never knew if he repelled them or not.
By Kevin Rolly4 days ago in Horror
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