Tick Tock
The ticking of the clock sped to match the racing of my pulse. I could hear the pounding of my heart beat as I sat reading the last thing I would ever. I could no longer take the torture that is living. Living, breathing, existing, it all just seems wrong. After what I've done, my lapse in sanity caused me to ruin the one thing in my life that was good and pure. I can't take this anymore! I can't take this guilt. I can hear his heartbeat. This is driving me insane. I've got to get out of here. There has to be somewhere, anywhere, that can help me get rid of this noise. The ticking won't stop! I can still feel his pulse fading slowly between my hands. I can hear his hands hitting in the hardwood floor as he thrashed like a fish out of water. I want this all to stop! Just one step and this will all be done. My final step. My final breath. In and-
Frozen Fear, Porcelain Lover, and A Trail of Black Feathers
I sleep with ease, and dream of happy memories;
A sunlit park with children laughing,
Something dark, ominous, baffling,
As I turn, black feathers I find,
Trailing down to a man refined.
But then I awaken, peace forsaken,
My body freeze, my voice unheard,
No matter how much I try I could not stir.
Something heavy weighs upon my chest,
This puzzled me, I could not rest.
Hidden eyes, from everywhere, are staring right at me.
Why does my heart pound? I wish to flee.
Is there somebody whispering to me?
What was that? Who is there?
Why am I seeing things that are not there?
They aren't there, right?
Where is the sunlight?!
My throat feels tight; is someone choking me?
But I see nothing! Is there a force I cannot see?
I struggle to move, but futile and weak.
I cannot reach out to god, or even shriek.
Who is there taunting me with wicked glee?
I only wish to be free!
I close my eyes, praying for this nightmare to end.
Do you expect me to be dead?
Dawn arrives and I regain my self-control
While I calm my troubled mortal soul.
I come every morning at dawn, dressed in velvet red,
My gloved hands manipulating
The puppet's strings while a fair lass
Watches them dance at my every command.
Everyday she comes to watch my show
Entrance by my story-telling while I,
The Puppeteer, am entranced by her beauty.
A man in ebony black passes by me,
While I step over a blacken feather,
Still performing, still pulling, the strings of fate.
Dancing with her in my arms,
In this elaborate party of mine,
I stroke and caress her beautiful face.
Lady Marie, your angelic eyes shine better
Than my glass orbs of violet and green;
Lady Marie, your rosy cheeks are lovelier
Than my cold snow-white skin underneath these sleeves;
Lady Marie, you, who stands last after my show,
Smile like that of a goddess, enchanting me;
If only I was as lively as you are.
You touch my face only to find it cold as ice
And your fearful eyes look around
To find out my guests are merely puppets
Whom I control with these porcelain fingers of mine.
I pull their strings, following my every command,
As I make them dance around you.
Yes, my dear, I am your porcelain lover.
Won't you stay with me forever,
And give me your heart?
This empty chest of mine needs your love,
And only you can control my fate.
Please answer me, my dear,
Or my strings may choke you . . .
A fine pale gentleman dressed in ebony black
Danced with a feathered top hat and beautiful dark eyes
Alluring, mysterious, and deep like that of a raven.
Wherever he goes a story is told
As he leaves a trail of black feathers behind.
Smirking, knowing he will live forever;
"Nevermore," was the last thing he said
Before leaving his friend, Poe, dead.
The Traveler of the Dark
I am a traveler of the dark
Where I go I leave my mark
Where I stop I cannot stay long
For me to stay forever simply wrong
I roam from town and country
Of this year and the next century
I hold no lover, children, or friend
Yet I meet them all at the very end
I know not why I wander
I know I may never travel yonder
To the worlds of light and despair
Yet I travel with little care
I am the visitor of who you do not weep
When the time comes I bid you a kiss in your cold sleep
Withered Rose
Initial my blood into your need,
carving my name on your skin.
The eclipse of blood moon flows through
vein’s uninterrupted river of thoughts -
permanent reflection in crimson streams
braids my liquids into your center.
Blood seeps from fragile mind,
devouring and souring the soul,
hair dripping like red candle wax,
a drizzle of sanguine withered rose
draining claret blood of nakedness.
Mahogany rain blossoms on sheets
as I breathe within my last breeze
salt of the seas bitter with regret.
Callous Windshield
The moon broke loose
From it's clutter of dead trees...
...But when it fell on
Sage's back,
Shots of
Moonlight regaled
Tiny white hairs
On her reactive neck...
She was staring down
At the bloodied wreck
Of her dog,
And wondering what
Base human
Would commit
Such a
Repugnant act...
...The cruel mishap
Must have happened
When she was
Off at work,
And the bastard hadn't
Even the courtesy
Of pulling Daisy
Out of the road...
...Daisy had been hit
Multiple times,
And Sage could barely
Recognize her
Darling face now...
...Sage's tears
Tumbled down
Onto the brutalized
Heap
Which had
At one time been
Daisy.
With blurry eyes,
Sage stared down
Off the overpass to the
Series of
Cars whizzing by
Like rockets
Down below...
...There was more
Cars everyday,
And with the cars
Came a heightened
Sense of
Cruelty.
The callous windshield
On each menacing
Car
Cut every driver off
From his or her
Natural world...
...In grief,
Sage let her body slip
From her spot overlooking
The overpass...
Falling!...
...Her body
Plunged fast
Towards the
Wavering throng
Of honking, and
Screeching
Metal...
...She could almost feel
Heat rise
From the cars
That would ultimately
Tear her to pieces...
...But for only
A moment,
She found
Some precious
Seconds of peace,
As she hovered above
The ungodly madness
That never seemed to catch
A worrisome breath.
©
2017
Bunny Villaire
Some have it understood that light opposes dark,
Some see the relationship; that there is no dark without light,
Some see the shapes and waves light takes as it expands through space,
But no one could hear silence amidst the toils of time.
For is it not that the noise defies quiet,
Or even that stillness could not be without disruption
In fact, is it that noise crawls through silence,
In attempt to surpass its unbearable voice.
At Home With Silence
the steady whir of the oscillating fan
the singular creek of an old wooden chair
the unhurried tick-tock of the pretty wall clock
the periodic rustle of a yellowed page turning
the rhythmic buzz of flittering hummingbird wings
the soft pitter-patter of kittenish feet
the warming silence of love flooding the room
