Shadow Voices From the dark shadows of the hall Echoing silently, softly off the walls The voices drift to me as I sit in my recliner With my nose buried in a book. Although the voices are most insistent— I do not spare them a single instant, Nor raise my eyes from the printed page To even take a moment’s look. For the voices are but there to remind me Of all the bad things that would confine me. ...
COBWEBS Sitting in near darkness, I watched a spider spin a silken web. The fragile threads were wove Into a complex pattern of crisscross Lines, a geometric Design that might have been difficult to Reproduce easily. Yet this tiny artist expected only Her daily sustenance. Of such humble souls is the heaven made... Jonathan Blade © 12/15/97 Published in The Aurorean, Winter 1997
Danse Macabre Around the silent headstones in the cold moonlight, burnished bones gleaming with unearthly glow; they dance to the beating of each fearful heart that’s pleading for this nightmare to simply vanish! Enough! But as the rat-tat-tat of the heart continues and the blue lights flicker on the top of every tomb, the shades weave in and out of shadows in a ghastly tarantella, the moonbeams dancing with ...
The Messenger And so at last I come to thee, Like thousands gone before To pluck my beak at my ebon breast And drop a black feather at thy door... Behold the dusky down as it descends, Regard its gyrations and pathway well— For upon length of descent thy length of days depends— It is a summons to Heaven or to Hell! Other eyes than mine watch the feather fall, The orbs of He of whom I am but the messenger. ...
and i am afraid i'm very afraid of taking a deep breath and drawing a knife wrenching it into my heart and finding - too late - only empty space small flecks of what may have been blood tiny shards of what could have been life there are days, Dorothy, when i am jealous of the Tin Man.