From slumber weary I awoke,
no comfort calling, no kindness spoke.
Only night returned my gaze,
all empty skies and gloomy haze.
Be still heart, dark stay your hand,
for I'm no stranger to this land.
This dreamscape I have walked, and walked, before,
futilely searching for sleep’s door.
Still, thoughts tugged upon my mind,
the nagging, gnawing, loitering kind.
Did some call awaken me,
or something I was meant to see?
No reason answered,
No revelation dawned,
Then chased by sun, the night was gone.
About the Creator
Christopher Zachary
Nuclear physicist by training, genetic analyst by practice, writer, book lover, and anachronism at heart.
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Two Wrinkles In Time
It is pointless to run, my darling, because sixty seconds ago, I will kill you. My blade will have sliced reality open right in front of you. It will have first pierced it as it would a bed sheet left hanging to dry, flapping in the wind on a Sunday afternoon. But the metal will have drawn a line in the air that the ghostly tear will have followed. Then I, La Dyablès, machete firmly in hand, will have emerged from what your mind, at the time, could only interpret as the other side of here—whatever that means to you. I know. I have seen that look on the faces of countless unlucky… clients. You will not have been the first nor the last to try and reneg on a riches for soul contract only to present this visage to me when I come to collect.
By Lily Séjor6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Captivating.