He wore the perfume of death brewed from the souls he took it floated off his breath He wore the perfume of death the ink still wet on names recorded in his book He wore the perfume of death brewed from the souls he took
the siren song calls harmonizing with the dirge of those who listened
when I dream they come the mist rolls in thick their long black robes swirl pinpricks down my spine their heavy boots thud pinpricks down my spine their nails scratch the trees pinpricks down my spine their long black robes swirl shrill laughter pierces ringing through the air shrill laughter pierces no one else can hear shrill laughter pierces the mist rolls in thick when I dream they come
the guilty wood creaks floorboards shift and slide over unwanted secrets
I slip through the trees while the light turns slowly from indigo to a pale yellow the houses still glow amber spilling their secrets
old secrets still dwelled in the dark house, enshrouded by dust and cobwebs
Originally posted on Xanku:
You could reconstruct my life From the things I’ve retained A toy and some books Some jewelry some art A childhood game. Some things I have kept And some have kept me A ring from my mother A gift from my ex An unknown key That I can’t throw away Because I just may Find the lock that it fitted Full of treasure or memory One of these days. I see them through eyes Through the years, as I changed From child to student To woman to crone Am I who I am, Or just what I’ve owned? From the dverse prompt of 8/20/19
wires twist and creak rubber gloves snap, needles click implements of pain ********* Today’s haiku is inspired by the movie Audition.
No matter what I’m doing, I’m listening. Especially at work. I can type an email, answer a call, fill out a report, and eavesdrop on a conversation with ease. And since I have an unusual job that includes high level work, like overseeing the debt collections efforts for 15 managers, and the more entry level task of manning a reception desk at the same time, I overhear a lot. Last week an executive waiting for the elevator turned to the colleague he with and said, “I think this meeting is going to go well, but it’s a shame Dr. Goodnight couldn’t make it.” Dr. Goodnight? Who the hell is that? I have mentioned before that I can’t name the gigantic corporation I work for, but I can assure you, we are not in the healthcare industry. And what a name, fit for a Bond villain, or perhaps an assassin. Now I want to name every villian I write in a story Dr. Goodnight.