the shadows do not live here

 

 

all is dark in the attic,

all is dark in the attic!! –

cold and solitude.

there,  i can seek and no one will find.

because the shadows do not live here – anymore!

no one will find whats in the chest,  locked and stowed away.

the blood of anger,  rage  and sadness – dwells and never dries

always,  forever flowing in veins that can not escape!!

alas!  the silence in which you live in,  forever stays in conversation.

the axe tells the story but cannot speak –

its tongue is on the floor;   fear seeps thick in the attic!!

fear so thick

you can feel it whispering itself all over your skin.

the axe is stained and now covered with webs of deceit!!

the wooded clapboard creaks slowly as the nights chilled wind lazily drifts by.

a moon beam squeaks through and peaks through a crack in the wooded chest –

and shone in cold eyes that everlastingly stay awake.

for the distant doomed,  damnable laugh still echos in the halls –

but the shadows do not live here!!

nay!  the shadows do not live here – anymore!!

all is dark in the attic!!

all is dark in the attic!! –

cold and solitude.

there,  i can seek and no one will find me,

the shadows do not live here – anymore!!

 

 

c. 2014 bgw

 

 

 

 

 

 

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winter’s morning

 

 

when i woke in winter’s morning,  grey and beautiful

snow had been falling during the midst of night

the hidden light of the moon falls into its slumber

and a stillness of the morning seemed to take hold of my thoughts

– in a grey morning dawn.

a leaping sun hides and hibernates

and yields to a gentle falling snow.

all the silence that is to be heard in the woods

i seek for it here as i sit at my desk in this cabin –

warm and comforting.

glancing out the window before me –

frosted and cold.

the desk lamplight shines upon the parchment,

the cobblestone fireplace warms the room,

and i gaze out some more.

hypnotized by the falling flakes dancing downwards,  searching –

finding the words in a silent wonder

i snap back out of my hypnotic state

as the chimes of the clock strike nine

soon fading back into its rhythmic tic toc.

– in a grey morning dawn.

a leaping sun hides and hibernates

and yields to a gentle falling snow.

all the silence that is to be heard in the woods

gave way to the crunching sound of  footprints in snow –

stretching my legs i wander towards the wood pile and grab another armful.

from the corner of my sight,  i found the cardinal perching  in the twiggy branches

the morning snow slowly cloaking,  coating the bare trees,

and all the while the creek below sweeps it cold waters downstream.

the chimney smoke softly drifts upward,  and bellows outward the sent of a welcoming warmth awaiting

i rush back into the cabins comfort.

the tea kettle slowly starts its soft whistle as i brush off the gathering flakes of snow

now melting on my jacket and in my hair

– when i woke in the winter’s morning,  grey and beautiful

snow had been falling during the call of night

the hidden light of the moon falls into its own slumber

and a stillness of the morning  seemed to take hold of my thoughts

 

 

c. 2014 bgw