Spooky lights.
Spooky lights.

Crimson locks on cedar slats,

Dimly lit under the blinking

Flames on wooden wicks

Floating from dimensions

People lack the faith to

Truly believe in.

I climb the stairs to these

Chamber doors in order to

Understand what they conceal

Behind them, with all of

Its feminine mystique,

Under starless skies.

Keys hang from guillotine

Nooses with intricate knots

Along the forested paths

That bend and twist

And let out howls

When there is no wind felt.

I examine the metal charms,

Caressing each delicately,

Allowing my fingers to see

Their scars of aging and

Appreciate their haggard beauty

And dented birthmarks.

I look in hopes that I might,

By some serendipitous twist,

Release the bolt that hold

The door captive in place,

To reveal to myself what

Beyond that mirrored threshold.

I scout the perfect one:

Slender body with straight teeth

That cascade and emerge

With feminine ribbing not yet

Clouded with rust and time,

Shining ornately in plainness.

Approaching the door takes time,

Time I may not have,

Not yet cemented in time pieces,

Not yet siphoned through my

Eyes and heart, filtered pure

Into the past distilled.

The door fumbles with my key

Playfully, as perhaps a cat would

When toying with a mouse

It has no intention of eating,

Sounds of internal machinations

Reverberate up my arm.

The stars become agitated,

Descending upon me and resting

Upon my shoulders and collar,

Shattering the evening air with

Blinding wings in multiple sets

Sprouting from their backs.

My hand drops,

The key shatters,

I step back,

My heart flashes,

The air thickens,

Nothing changes.

Mists of twilight or dawn

Float around me, guiding me

Back down the stairs and into

The forest from whence

I came, beckoning on my

Behest to pursue retreat.

I gaze upon my boots,

The bodies of all the stars

Resembling those of fireflies,

Scattered about the cobblestone,

Ashes from intensity

Too strong and misguided.

My body becomes stolid,

Marbling as my eyes fix

Their gaze beyond the door,

The light in them waning,

As once did the fire that

Gave life to the stars.

Composed 12/12/12

Author’s Note: Another challenge from a friend: Compose a poem in which something dies. This one turned out rather cliché, what with the tower and damsel motifs quite blatantly there. Alas, they can’t all be 100%, I suppose.

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Dry Days (Prose)

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