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The hunter rests on frozen soil Hungry, he concedes defeat He seems lifeless with closed eyes, Too numb for pain and too tired to dream The lethargic, empty shell of a shattered man Fading in the ashes of prosperity Stench of death is stale in the air

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Wraiths stray along a beaten path defamed by refuse and trash With trodden faces eroding by the weight of guilt As the shadows of a tragic past follow them Their hatred is the size of the universe, Quickened in Desolation’s Rung And it is black as lead and death

Druidic

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You’ve had good days, bad days, Everything in between. And even your bad days Were never that bad, Never the absolute worst, Never the horrors reserved By Chance or Fate For the Luckless Or the Damned. That’s an evil lottery

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There's no forgiveness There's no salvation Only people condemning other people into the hell of existence with all its suffering. But then there's

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I've bought myself a flashlight. The shop assistent asked me what I need it for. "Find way in the dark!" What else?!

A. Bracanovich

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In the remains of a church

by L.P. Van Ness

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Our Lady Dreams within her Room, A dull and silent, book-lined Tomb. She curls into her reading chair And twists the corners of her hair. Northern Nights, Nicole. Northern Lights, the Soul. The curtains give a shiver-shake, The Timepiece sounds a sigh; They knew it...

dante1991

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Ivy takes over.

dante1991

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Fred is dead and haunting a tumbledown shed.

dante1991

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What we see, what we hear.

dante1991

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My first "dark"poem, criticism encouraged.

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“I am sure that I am a person Probably human I most likely live at the center of something, some design” Look at the storyteller Surrounded by cheer But in his heart is a bombshelter from the illusion

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As preface, my younger brother's tragic death is the defining turning point in my life. The poem was written circa 1979. THOSE FLOWERS: OCTOBER 22, 1960-JANUARY 20, 1977 Denny sure had a lot of flowers my grandpa says or somesuch coming back from the auto parts

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Desire. Design. Deployment. Delivery. Dutifulness. Decline. Dissolution. Desertion. Demolishment. Done.

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EASTER MONDAY Rebirth again. Eggshellls crushed by stone. Petals plucked by wind. Waters seeping southward. Nothing learned But the same lesson. Stone, wind, and water

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dumb thing my fear something so near

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someone is wrong some said the car swerved others said the opposite some said the dog approached others still disagree

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(I had a college friend who took some rather stark and striking black and white photographs. He asked me to write some poetry to accompany them. My time-yellowed notes indicate that I wrote at least three such complementary pieces in 1979. This poem was written to accompany a photograph of...

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PHOTO #2 Scattered stones & dead leaves hard against the ground & small plants: two or three tattered intricacies wind through all arrangements.

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lament near a window the dog's dish is empty the owner is away and might never come back