There's a dark corner that lay in each of our souls.
Taking hostage of secrets, never to be told.
So be careful hon, you're running on a tight rope.
You never know what could happen...don't get too close.
A breath of fresh air, different from the norm.
You're like the calm before the storm.
& the deeper I look into your eyes, the more I want to endure…
What exactly this storm has in store.
Sun is seeping through yesterday’s sorrow,
No longer caught up in the thought of tomorrow.
Colors of the world bleed from dull to iridescent.
Nature’s soundtrack takes turns reminding us of its presence.
Together we walk the path, into the eye of the storm.
Surrounded by chaos, once we reach the center life takes on a new form.
There is beauty most commonly missed, in the simplest of things.
The more open your mind, the more your day will bring.
Let loose before the chaos seeps in.
Fall into the clouds with me…let the fun begin.
Laughter to color rainbows, help feed the tress.
Watch as the grass resuscitates, reminding us the breath.
Sunsets never so bright, & skies never so blue.
Smiles to reflect the sunlight, lighting up the world around you.
Music sending vibes, tangible to my heart.
And for some reason my mind is telling me…this is only the start.
About the Creator
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 Rolly7 days ago in Horror
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