Hollow

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they say the pines a’whisper,
a rustling lullaby song,
as the breeze plucks at treetops,
and cool nights grow dark and long

but their sound does not lull, no,
it sings harshly of a ‘bye,
disappearing in shadow,
and cruel whispering of lies

there’s no bogeyman hiding,
in the darkest nooks of night,
it’s absence that’s a’haunting,
hollow howls in the moonlight

-image found via rebloggy.com, revised older poem

Landscapes

I sometimes paint landscapes with silver-tongued brushes,
using a palette made of sand

pigments extracted from fruits of hope, 
each stroke with an unsteady hand

I sometime paint landscapes with silver-tongued brushes,
eyes closed as I take it all in

possibility unfolding behind wishful lids,
planting seeds deep within

I sometimes paint landscapes with silver-tongued brushes,
and watch as they wash away

sometimes hope goes only so far,
and seeds don’t see light of day

I sometimes paint landscapes with silver-tongued brushes,
they the predator, and I the prey

-image via Tumblr, original artist unknown

Powerless

waking behind closed eyes,
she was parched with panic,
damp fear making its way
to the surface of her skin

its ominous presence made known

it wasn’t anywhere in particular;
it was all-the-places,
taking up all the space,
ready, hungry, waiting

it was here for her

she could feel its soul salivating,
its stifling need, heavy in the air,
her breathing labored,
the air freezing in gasps in her lungs

it wants to diminish her

with all her will,
she struggled to pry open her eyes,
her brain certain to make it so,
each individual muscle desperate to cooperate

it allowed no sight

frantic, her voice gathered all its strength to scream,
urgent cries heaving within her chest,
it’s stifled agony glued to the tip of her tongue 

it allowed no sound

arms tensing to throw back the covers,
her feet begged to run and run and run,
all of her muscles rigid with yearning,
threatening to snap

it allowed no movement

so it was she accepted her fate,
breathing slowing in surrendered trembles, muscles giving way to exhaustion,
and eyes which no longer needed opening in order to see,
shed involuntarily tears

it allowed them

~image found on Pinterest, and the words are bringing to life a recurring dream I had long ago, shared in response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Tale Weaver, The Dark Side Challenge