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Fear not of the darkness,
Fear what lies within,
The feather light coldness,
That touches your skin.
The sound in the dark,
That drives you insane,
Spinning and turning,
Searching in vain.
The patter of footsteps,
That runs through the dark,
The laughter of children,
In the still park.
The dripping of water,
When all should be dry,
A voice that awakens,
When none should reply
The strong smell of burning,
When nothings alight,
These are the things,
That go bump in the night.
Do not feel secure,
Because I'm not afraid,
When light comes again,
I will soon fade.
That patter of footsteps,
That ran through the dark,
That laughter of children,
That laughed in the park.
That dripping if water,
When all should be dry,
That voice that awoke,
When none should reply.
That strong smell of burning,
When nothings alight,
I am the thing,
That goes bump in the night.
Lying in the velvet dark,
I thought I heard you calling,
A gentle creak upon the step,
I thought I heard you falling.
For moment, lying there,
I thought you had returned,
From your early leaving,
From that day you burned.
As my mind began to wake,
I thought I saw you there,
Standing in my doorway,
Drowning my despair.
That figure in my doorway,
Was nothing but a coat,
The voice I heard calling,
Issued from my throat.
All around i hear their voices,
Crying from afar,
Inside my head i see them,
On my mind they scar.
When i turn to greet them,
I find that they have fled,
For they are not the living,
But the living dead.
A picture is worth
a thousand words, how else
would we display the
artful wonders of the
world.
How else would we know,
the stark silhouette
of a stag full-grown,
against the early
morning light. His
aged twisted, branched
antlers glinting in
the sun.
How else would we know,
the new bade of spring,
its green form, sheathed in
the late winters frost.
the first sign of
life, through a winter so,
parched.
How else would we know,
the grace and speed of
an antelope, or the strange,
long snout of the
anteater.
Is a picture
really worth a thousand
words,
or does a word
paint a thousand
pictures?
(Acrostic)
Torn wings run red,
He lies in blood he's bled,
Eternally fallen from overhead.
Flowing sweet tears,
An angel cleansed from all fears.
Learn from his mistake,
Learn as you see his heart break,
Eternally fallen from spring,
Now feathers fall from his wing.
A good life to be like him,
Not like this so grim,
Getting his wings, learn how to fly,
Eternally fallen, don't cry,
Live, die, fly in the sky.
*If you don't know, an acrostic poem has a message made from the beginning of each line. . . or i think thats waht it is. . . anyway thats what i have done*
In the lightened morning wood,
Stand the soldiers grand,
Some of evil, some of good,
To make a final stand.
Creatures of the light and dark,
Stand with hand on sword,
Some to serve the grand old witch,
And some the dark dank lord.
Elves and men stand side by side,
The dragons take to flight,
Horses start at the great unknown,
As now begins the fight.
Charging forwards, eyes aflame,
Hundreds hit the ground,
On the floor by living feet,
The dead now doth surround.
Forgotten in that darkened lord,
And that forest grand,
Where creature of myth and tale,
Fought a final stand.
She guides you though the fields of dreams,
She takes you by your hand,
Her gentle touch as soft as silk,
She leads you through this land,
She takes you places you feel safe
To places in your mind,
Places where your memory left,
For you to leave behind.
There is another dark and damp,
Who pulls you from her grip,
He takes you places you are scared,
And leaves you there to trip.
Into the depths of hell you fall,
But not quite to your death,
Just to come back sweating cold,
Lying out of breath,
Then back into that world you slip,
When you fall asleep,
Not afraid when darkness falls,
Into dreams you creep.
o;hbgvkjbvfx
Copyrighted By Laura (c) NO STEALING!!!
(Especially the poems - Email me if you want to use them)
