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Poetic Utterings

Life can be a bitter brew, but not as bold or strong as you.

Category

Dark Poetry

The Vengeance in Our Hearts

The Vengeance in Our Hearts

Faces Known

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Alone

Alone

Fangs

Fangs

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Forgotten

She has forgotten
How to feel the sunset
What the wind whispers
The patters of fireflies
That souls can touch
How to link hearts over space
To hold onto time
Why she is racing,
and why she wasn’t always
Where she is drifting,
and how to swim
The very essence
of what she once was
and who she is supposed to be
She has forgotten
Everything but memory’s echo,
the sense of something lost

– s. Clark

Shadow Dancer

She meant to fall asleep before the moon
But words were dancing in her head
and she had danced alone so long
She clenched the slipping fingers of thought
And twirled between broken echoes
of unanswered questions
Swaying to the haunting melody of her heart
Head spinning, she spun on
and refused to quit the dance
Until the disapproving eye of dawn
glared through the window
And she turned from the thoughts of the day
unwilling to flee her dark partner
She sank into the arms of a dream

– s. Clark

Hunted

He ran,
Liquid panic in his veins,
He sucked in air that burned his chest,
And blew it out in frantic gasps
His limbs pumped,
Working far too hard
To carry him so sluggishly.
The Creature roared behind,
Its footsteps beating
In time with his rapid heart,
And his feet so heavy
He could feel it gaining,
Reeling him in,
A thrashing fish, hooked through the gut.
Snarling, hot breath on his neck.
Sweat dripped in his eyes,
Why was he so slow?
The soil was sand,
And the forest collapsed around him,
Folding into darkness.
He ran and ran, and did not move,
While the Creature’s laughter
Filled his ears and mind,
And darkness took him.

– s. Clark

Theme Week: Old Souls – 3

Too Young

I have grown so very tired,
My back is bent from all the weight.
For my heart has grown so heavy,
Beneath the fearsome load of hate.
My frail arms can last no longer
Holding my grudges to my chest,
All my anxious thoughts assault me,
And I must set my mind to rest.
How the tired task of living
Wears like a sickness in my soul.
How I seem to hunt down sorrow,
Chained by what I cannot control.
Where is the song that I once heard,
The words of hope I once was told?
Help me drown out this silent scream,
I am too young to be this old.

– s. Clark

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