The Halls Of The Dead

Faithful readers…
This is another uncensored one, that was triggered by the first two lines. When I read those first eleven words aloud, I got a chill down my spine. Hope you like it.

The voices are stilled now,
In the halls of the dead.
Where once royal pardons
Saved miscreants heads.

At peace now the warriors,
Who fought without fear.
Their bodies recumbent
In silk pure and sheer.

The voices are stilled now,
In the halls of the dead.
Where prayers to the maker
Were devoutly said.

No more the whispers,
That echoed and sighed.
As people in mourning
Averted their eyes.

The voices are stilled now,
In the halls of the dead.
No more passing footsteps
Of a hesitant tread.

The feet of the supplicant,
Unsure on the stone.
No more with their priest,
Nor passing alone.

The voices are stilled now,
In the halls of the dead.
The ghosts are all missing
The spirits all fled.

Now all that is left,
Is the wind as it blows.
Throughout all the eaves
And down row after row.

Come join me in silence,
In the halls of the dead.
If you listen with care
You’ll hear what was said.

Sainted Peace

Faithful readers…
This is a weird one. I know where the idea came from, but it kind of got away from me. It’s one of those that would have been good to collaborate on. Anyway, I hope you like it. Thanks for reading.

They started in lust
With a care-free abandon,
And soon as two souls
The fell swiftly in love.

Days spent in wonder
And nights full of passion,
They each thanked the heavens
And God up above.

But life with its arrows
And time moving onwards,
Tests all and each of us
Day after day.

With no one to turn on
But the woman once cherished,
His angry frustration
Was not held at bay.

The first time he struck
She shouldered the burden,
Assuming that something she did
Was to blame.

But time after time
His fists did the talking,
And finally one night
She’d had enough pain.

As he lay sleeping
In growling dark nightmares,
She slipped from the bed
That they fitfully shared.

In the kitchen she found
The means of her freedom,
A cold and hard blade
On which moonlight did glare.

Climbing the stairs
As though climbing a mountain,
Each step a tough test
Of her burgeoning will.

And standing above him
With heart pounding harder,
She was gripped by the question
“Could I kill?”.

With one precise motion
Old troubles were over,
No more would she suffer
At the hands of this beast.

And through her remorse
And her nights locked in prison,
She knew in her heart
She had earned sainted peace.

Be Yourself

Faithful readers…
Another new one, written and posted in about ten minutes. Maybe that shows in the quality, or maybe it shows that these words are often almost vomited out of me, hard and fast and all of a sudden. I hope you like it.
Oh, and it had a swear. Sorry.

“Be yourself”
The oft’ stated call,
But which self to be
When heaven falls?

This convoluted
That argues, fights,
Gets in the way of me.

A day of joy
When charm is all,
Such smiles and winks,
Walking tall.

A day of black
With scowl and sneer,
Stay out my way,
Steer fucking clear.

“Be yourself”
A challenge, true,
But the one real me
Is seen by you.

Perfect Realisation

So here’s another of my ‘publish without censoring’ posts. Came to me in a thought, triggered by the title. I hope you like it.

It chases me,
This guilty flush of
Perfect realisation;
That throughout all,
My self confessed addiction
Was mistaken.

These platitudes,
Which spilled from me
In yearning and elation;
Were nought in fact,
But empty words of
Quickly spent temptation.

We often find,
The hidden secret kept
In isolation;
Reveals a truth,
We’ve struggled so to hide
From contemplation.

And now we’ve come,
In circle full to
This capitulation;
I will not hide,
Nor turn away from this
Perfect realisation.

Of Late

While here I sit,
In musty room of history
And oft-remembered cigarettes,
Your face no longer swift recalled
Of late.

The sun shown dust,
That filters sites so old recalled
From tattered pages ever old,
Taints my days with bitter sweet
Of late.

And though your voice,
That once did bless these shadowed halls
Was heavenly in charming life,
Now fades as whispered entreaties
Of late.

And all that’s left,
To comfort me in fading light
As day draws down to evenings end,
Is just your time worn memory
Of late.