Soft grey veils descend on the plains,
The world grows quiet, hushed and blurred;
I stroll back home amidst the fog
Without a sense of direction.
My breath makes cold and hazy clouds,
Lost in this murky frosty shroud,
My thoughts start to roam far and wide
Where worries waltz and fade away.
Sweet Mother Marrow flies
in through the pane,
With dust made of shadows
and liquid of bane.
She gives you a gown that is
woven from spite,
And slippers of glass that
pinch extra tight.
She smiles with a grin full of
needles and pins,
And laughs in the dark when
the nightmare begins.
Her magic wand splinters
and curdles the milk,
As she wraps up your
dreams in a shroud of black
silk.
So cover your ears when she
hums her sweet chime,
For this godmother loves to
run out of your time.
Dust motes dance in the
moonlight where the rotting
porch boards moan beneath
my feet.
Thick, silver cobwebs drape
like burial shrouds over the
rotting, abandoned foyer.
A sudden, frantic squeaking
echoes from the floorboards,
followed by the scuttle of a
hundred hungry spiders.
The decrepit house breathes,
its wall pulsing with the phantom
sounds of distant, agonizing yells.
I try to retreat, but the front door
slams shut, locking me inside the
suffocating darkness.
Invisible fingers brush against
my neck, and the temperature
drops to a freezing, unnatural chill.
The screaming starts then- a chorus
of tormented souls trapped forever
within the cursed timber.
I run up the spiraling staircase,
only to find the hallway crawling
with grotesque, shifting shadows.
The walls close in as a deafening
shriek shatters the silence, and the
house claims another victim.
Now I am just another spectral
noise in the dark, forever screaming
in the spider- infested void.
Seven By Seven Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
4/16/2026
Shroud Of Dusk
sun in shadows late at dusk
through my city's fall on me
from skies and within windows
perhaps as the dark would be*
where some streetlight will survive
this unrelenting day's search
for moving and for standstill
Emergence of the unseen,
The mystery of ages,
The emptiness of something,
That which echoes in silence,
Heard by the seekers of truth,
Unveiled in deep solitude,
The mind calmed from its tempest.
April 16, 2026.
Nette Onclaud,
Seven By Seven Poetry Contest.
Whilst the sun slowly sinks
Beneath the snow-capped mountains
Dark-rimmed clouds drift high above
Red-orange skies shroud the sky
V-shaped geese honking afar
Darkness creeps on mirrored lakes
Gold eyes wink as dusk sets in
Date: 14.04.2026
In the shroud of dusk, I see
pink shadows on sky's blueboard,
the sun's aura in the sea,
Tangerine ball has me floored,
inspires stirring poetry,
I feel the hand of the Lord
and a sense of mystery.
Shroud of Dusk
The golden sun fades away
As fierce orange carves its way,
Soon purple light starts to bloom
For violets to make room,
Trees are now ghosts of the grey
As shroud of dusk spreads its sway
Heralding end of the day.
Pale and thin, a tattered ghost,
moves under a velvet shroud.
Died upon the jagged coast;
lost within a graphite cloud.
Streaks onto paper as rust;
the sharp edges start to tear.
Drowning in the lonely dusk.
Softly moves the shroud of dusk
following the rules of night
floating as a ghostly cloud
snuffing out remaining light.
Eerie is this time between
when all slowly disappears-
till the Moon unfolds its sheen.
Day's drama comes to a drop
Deep blinds disseminated
Disclosing the doors of dusk
Deathly deafness developed
Darkness deters and dwindles
Discomfort and drudgery
Downtime for an endless deal
Place : 4
Dusk fell velvety maroon
when blue thrush whistled sharply,
at cool death of afternoon,
when teal stars glittered starkly.
In silk moon rays, green grass stirred;
and the red world turned darkly.
Natural beauty observed.:
Grateful for the shroud of dusk;
quiet prelude into dark;
where thin voices cease to busk;
no one sees me as a mark.
Now unseen, I see them still;
watch and rant and rage until
returns soft song of the Lark.
And as my final act of love,
I would forgive myself,
Give myself the freedom we never had.
I will let our tulips wither, and let the ferns bloom in time.
Color my slate-grey skin pink, for silver offers no solace, its poison veiled in guile.
I will be the blue we dreamt to sink into.
And you will be the amber sun that burns.
And as the skyline kindles and the sky grows crowded with clouds,
I will meet you at the horizon, hidden in a shroud.
Dried love, my eyes still searching for your face,
my tongue stiff, still trying to pronounce your name.
snow falls stern and strong
cotton shroud on sleepy trees~
stars frozen with cold.
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