Monday, 4 April 2022

Axeman

 


The axeman cometh,

his feet thudding the steps

to the summit,

where he will take your breath

along with your head

and lead you on your pathway to death.

 

The executioner calls,

usually just as darkness falls.

His axe dragged along behind,

the scraping sound grinds

into your terrified bones,

like nails down a tombstone.

 

Years of blood stain the axe,

the lives it has ended cling to its surface

in a grimace of red,

the stories of the dead

embedded into its razor edge.

Lost to its sharpened blade.

 

The man with the axe,

dressed head to toe in black

because blood stains lighter clothes.

He swings

and down through your neck it goes.

Blood flows.

Red.

It weeps out,

no tears shed this time,

not by the axeman

he's already on to the next in line.

 


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Peace, Love and Poetry 
 
Kyle
 

Sunday, 3 April 2022

Cynophobia

 


Weary legs and panting breath,

so cold and out of my depth.

I'm running on empty.

This forest and me,

trees all that I can see.

Under full moons leering gaze,

trapped like a rat in a maze.

 

Through the brambles and the thorns,

flesh ripped and torn.

Pain roars through my skin in dissent,

blood drips, a marker,

my scent.

A breadcrumb trail

but I must prevail,

I need to escape this thing

that is on my tail.

 

Over branches I trip,

through wet ground I slip,

never stopping, not for one second.

I can't look back to see what threatens.

Wooden limbs outstretched,

catching my face,

slowing my pace.

Twigs snap, crack under footfall,

I hear that growled call.

 

Running as fast as legs will take,

but my head is stuck fast back in that place,

in the dark wooded land,

I caught sight of what looked like a man,

but he had fur covering his face

and a strange gait

like he wanted to walk on all fours.

He struck me with sharp claws

and now through my veins

his cursed howls course.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

Please follow the link for my books, videos and social media.
 
Every click, every book purchase, every like helps me to keep doing what I love.
 
Peace, Love and Poetry 
 
Kyle
 

Friday, 1 April 2022

Made of stars.


 

A nebula negotiates

the vastness of space,

orchestrates

in silence.

Slow. Morose

the stars, the moons,

the planets below.

Like winds of sand

over mountainous dunes

playing cosmic harmonious tunes.

 

Supernova sky burst

atoms dispersed.

Sprinkles of space dust

floating the expanse.

The universes finest dance.

The fauna and floral bouquets,

reminders of faraway stays.

Island paradise in a planet of seas

deep rivers

the depths they tease.

 

Diamond planet,

rainbow glow.

In stories softly spoken

forever in the atoms that flow.

In memories that remain unbroken,

in sprinkles of delicate winter snow.

Summer sunbeams where dust dances 

to catch lustful eyes,

springtime daydreams, 

a harmony of happy sighs.

Those magical hours

in cooling autumnal showers.

 

On the words of song,

in the music that plays.

Stay, in the ether ever long

don't let hope float away.

You are made of stars.

Universal reservoirs.

The magic

that brings me to my knees,

the earth and seas.

You are beauty

that is hidden beneath.

 

 

Thanks for reading

Please follow the link for my books, videos and social media.
 
Every click, every book purchase, every like helps me to keep doing what I love.
 
Peace, Love and Poetry 
 
Kyle

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