Ancient scrolls foretold
Dread the dead kings reckoning
Cursed crypts of gold
The meadow of my mind
dried desolate as the desert dune.
The mist of concealed passion
suspended with mystique opacity
in the sunk halcyon horizon,
waited for the southern wind
to surreptitiously blow
from the fervent sparkling sky
with your sequined charisma,
swathing the shades of my blue.
In the titular template of loneliness,
the secret motif of my longing
designed the lattice of desire,
carved the furtive image of my heart,
the quivering willow in the wilderness.
The dormant dreams blazed in inferno;
I breathed the ashen memory smoke
afloat stealthily in the sky of vacuity.
The design of desolation intertwined
the splinters of my desire icons,
flew on the trajectory of covert longing
to the clandestine corral of anonymity,
lay within the poignant crypt
as the skeletons in the closet.
A howling rain that blotch upon my skin,
autumn rambler through that tangled leaf maze,
I am the deathly veined nightmare tomb,
whose dance macabre ghost ridden blight,
a morose bell toll clatter eardrum jinx,
blank ink bead choker voodoo last curtain,
light fusing blind host to nonexistence,
undertaker’s tool in morbid trade
Contest : Personally Speaking, Sponsored by : Nette Onclaud,
Date : November 5, 2025
As the hazy summer screen blows away
I spread sapphire hue on the silky sky,
sail cotton clouds across the azure.
Let the trees absorb colors I burst,
gild the leaves before they fall.
I frame a Monet with glow of delight
in my crypt for you to feel in winter
the touch of warmth from my afterglow.
I am a vault for the deceased -
for those who failed to make it past
the autumn of their lives.
I house the bones of the fallen ones
too frail to endure another winter -
who withered away like fall’s dry leaves.
Oh, how beautifully they shone
in the spring of their lives.
I crept right in, post Summer's stay
You see, it's always been that way
Tween life and death, I fill the crypt
As summer's luscious green is gripped
By ashen fields and dying leaves
That fall from shrubs and stately trees
To gift my days with brilliant glow-
Before I rest neath Winter snow
Submerged in fiery red and golden blond
My heart is burdened by whispers of wind
Who write stories on my spirit, dismal
Moments when I yield to the sun’s will
Who will dress my fragile notes in wine
And peace that never feels quite as great
As the caress of each dream fading from night
Who stifles my breath with soft moonlight
Autumn leaves were falling
in red, orange, gold and yellow,
as I strolled a cemetery quiet.
Until I heard whispers and moans.
Hello, where are you? Can I be of help?
I am in the crypt and cannot get out !
Trees were shedding gold and rain was falling.
Are you dead? Yes, and my door out is locked !
Trees, shedding their leaves;
Colors change, as summer dies.
Bears prepare to hibernate;
Plants wilt and return to soil.
People retreat, out of the cold.
Forests weigh heavy,
Smelling of rain and decay.
A gravesite made 'til Spring.
* 'Personally Speaking' Poetry Contest
* Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
* Entered: 11/1/2025
PERSONALLY SPEAKING: Title - This Autumn Crypt
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Date: 01-Nov-2025
---------------------------------------------
The season of the grows come to an end;
Lifeless leaves make their beds of rest,
In their suits of yellows and browns,
Decaying fields of bare bones heave a sigh.
They will persevere the long night,
Through the harsh wrath of the wintry death,
Before giving way to a new life --
And like a phoenix they shall rise.
Unfilled to over-flowing,
as was her bottle of tears,
with weeping for the fallen woman,
while from her lips to God's ears...
said the Mother Superior,
“I have completely lost track
of how often the Archbishop and I,
wearing ashes and cloth sacks,
crept into the crypt
and made the beast with two backs.
Altho' no one can hold a candle,
to his Grace, yes,
not even the Venerable Abbess,
flagellation notwithstanding,
as a nun married to You,
who committed sacrilege,
I'm ashamed to confess,
I broke your Lord's Commandment
as an unrepentant adulteress.”
Crypt and memories of the past
I feel like a corpse in a morgue, I am already that, a living dead
My crypt is so cold, dark, blind darkness everywhere, life after life
I got up, but the door was closed, this is my prison, found myself here the eternal life
Passed years, passed life, forgotten love, only illusion of my life, and illusory of the world, deceit
Child age, youth, parents, family, our house, sisters and brothers, girlfriends, workplaces, church, and my bicycle have not existed, it was all make-believe
Hmm, very bad this cemetery life, the smell of death, infinite demonic life, and eternal suffering became my class after death
Maybe this is Hell. Is this the Hell? Hmm, I don't know, it’s blind of mind, but not a human life, not a man's life, not a human being anymore
I want to leave this life, but I can’t this crypt is my jail, there is no light, just memories, and memories from the past run everywhere in my mind
Hmm, I can’t do anything, I am a prisoner of my past, when do I get out of here? I don’t know, no idea, time is cruel, my memories kill my life
Never had I met you
Still I know your name,
Because of the notoriety
Because of the fame
Written in stone
Forever and a day,
Many gone too soon
Seems to happen that way
Halls of Hollywood memories
Echo down the tomb ...
In a place of reverie
Not a place of gloom
Legends of the silver screen
Lives of cinema and script,
Lying in silent repose
In walls of the crypt
Living on in pictures
In ghostly black and white,
Gone but not forgotten
Under legacy's bright light
I can leave a flower ...
Can touch your nameplate,
In life I could never
Get near one so great.
Dank
darkness
was always
settled around.
It was all I knew
of the near universe.
Stale, stifling, suffocating
in my broken and spilt trundle
leaving bitter, morbidly clammy
earth enshrouding my body and being.
A crack in the soil, or in time perhaps.
Slivers of light split the filthy floor,
crawled over ornate catafalque,
and continued its approach,
like winter's blinding ice,
to my exposed bones.
Warming flesh grew
and coursed with
new - life
blood.
Stonemason's talent
his gnarled hands carve fine art
fluid beauty from granite
Flowers, fern and foliage
Exquisite presentation
Not for mortal eye.
The crypt slumbers on
Divine carved angel awaits
With patience sublime.
A holy quiet
Permeates this sacred place
Time has no meaning.
STONES
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