Nothing is soothing in this silence,
No static in the ears, and no waves within the canopies.
Nothing is stirring beneath the verdant cover.
Stirring chitin remains still, and not even a spider dares to tap on her limbs.
Something inexorable lurks within the fog, watching.
There must be something in the water when the mist rises in toxic cover.
Dead fish float like chopped logs from arboreal slaughter,
Skeletal deer prance with an urgent need to flee—
As the shadows morph into tenebrous forms.
Limbs outstretched, they choke the light from the sun,
And colorful flowers rot in their bloom.
A billow of smoke creates a room, walls of fog closing in on him now.
No escape from judgment as it approaches.
Hear the scrape of the scythe on pavement cutting,
The echoes of the ****** calling.
Deeds and sins replay in a cinematic recording.
When peace was offered, he did nothing.
Cold, invisible fingers catch the nape of his neck,
Grasping this wretch as the time comes.
Oh, there must be something in the water, where his ego lies and dies.
The metallic smell of old blood pollutes his senses,
Iron-laced perfume gathered on mildewed, moldy linen.
Red spots from his transgression stain his clothes.
He kneels in the shallow water, gargling black water to express his confession,
But it won’t top the procession.
It’s coming through these closing walls.
Nothing is soothing about this silence,
No miracle befitting to save the ******.
Brimstone and sulfur scents assault his senses as the fiery gates open like a welcoming parade. Fingers reach from the depths signaling charades as the reaper leaps and slashes away.
Welcome to Forever.
You’re just another, something in the water.
.I like to write poetic horror stories from time to time, and I understand I'm no Poe, Homer, Milton, or even Kipling, but I still like to tell stories poetically.
