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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Dark · #1645390
A poem about seasonal depression... sort of :]
The dead cold is more than personified
As a boy sits on his front porch
Grotesque images fill his mind
Staring at the forest.
Eyes, a flickering torch…

He focuses out by telling his self it's all in his mind
He snaps back to reality when a noise is heard.
He can't quite make out what this disturbance is
More than a sound
Less than a word…

Thinking upon the matter, the boy's mind jumps around
Out of the forest steps a women in a white satin gown

"Come to me" she whispers,
"Come lay down your head"
"Come sleep with me boy"
"Let us lie in my bed"

The trees throw on wicked smiles, as their branches entwine.
A perfect picture, the beauty of nature
Wooden architecture, framed in vine.

Only an arm and a leg stick out of the wooden half circle
She slowly flutters her fingers, she flirtatiously raises her ankle
"Pay attention now child!" the trees start to bark
She crooks a lone finger, she disappears into the dark.

The boy becomes euphoric, the boy charges the arc…

Moonlight outlines his siren as he bursts into a clearing
Her body now pulses, her limbs disappearing
He rushes to catch her, but hands sink into decay
Her face shows a carved smile as it slowly melts away

The trees shriek with pleasure when a distant noise drones.
An icy night wind rips through the forest, chilling his bones.
The boy starts to run away, with hands turned into fists
Clenching up muscles, raised veins visiting wrists

Running blindly, the roar behind him growing loud
He loses his footing, body attacking the ground
Oh, what a wonderfully terrified facial expression
The boys slow depression
The winds swift aggression

The darkness engulfs his scream
A whisked laughter is heard in the distance
Shadows surrounds his fallen body
The look in his young eyes now glisten

The trees merry howling now starts to grow grim
A symphony of cackling laughter
A dirge of cracking limbs
It takes only seconds, and all light escapes
The shadows grow smaller, in convulsing, screaming shapes

And like a flame set to a picture beautifully drawn
when the shadows cleared up

He was gone....
© Copyright 2010 Marek Morello (blackenedwings at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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