Endless steps upon the ashen path,
Each footfall echoes in the aftermath.
A world of shadows, fire long grown cold,
Yet onward you walk, alone but bold.
You rise from death, though hollowed inside,
A soul once bright now seeks to hide.
The weight of curses, the loss of light,
Yet still you press on through the endless night.
Memories fade, like whispers in the air,
Of who you were, or why you care.
But something deeper, a force untold,
Drives you forward, though your heart grows cold.
Is it hope or simply defiance?
To face the void in grim reliance?
No comfort comes, no peace you find,
Yet still you move, though nearly blind.
The fire dims, the world decays,
But the Chosen Undead, through it stays.
For even when hollow, with nothing left to feel,
It’s not in retreat, but in silence, you heal.
So march ahead, though the path is unclear,
What keeps you going is more than fear.
A silent purpose, a forgotten quest,
You fight on still, though denied your rest.
The nightly rattle heard down the hall,
The shadow form of a man stands tall.
The sound of chains strike fear to my heart.
His chance long past, he cannot depart.
Seeking my soul, he desires my fall.
His pain, I can feel, for after all,
He heeded not Heaven's urgent call,
But let his anguished form to impart
The forever torture of rattling chains.
The nightly rattle heard down the hall
Plays with my mind's sense of rationale.
Are eyes weary, or do shadows dart
To whittle the years on my life's chart?
Soulless, he yearns for the sensual,
Yet--
The forever torture of rattling chains.
From soil and filth and death we rose
One eve to feast under the moon
Lurk in decay with flesh necrose
Take caution, you are not immune
We are merciless, unceasing
From soil and filth and death we rose
Time ticks, our hunger increasing
Ever more as we decompose
Your eyes, your ears, your mouth, your nose
No quenching of our appetite
From soil and filth and death we rose
On this hallowed Halloween night
We hunt you in the street, your bed
As we reach out from the shadows
You’ll lose your mind before your head
From soil and filth and death we rose
Oct 12, 2022
12-16 Lines of Scary Halloween Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Tania Kitchin
Quatern
Rhymes checked on Rhymezone, syllables on howmanysyllables
Unscaved with Time
Never divine
Souls come and linger
In this theatrical pantomime
Temple of the slaves, rise from their Graves
Misfits and jesters alike, juggle souls with rotten spikes
Temple of the slaves, with guns blazing in the skies
A poetic endless war, with the dead at its core
Immortally bitten to mass submission
The spirit of time is ashamed
For thy art is not dead, it’s just in your head
Where imagination strives.
The brain does not lose, it’s potential to cruise
Inside the now decomposed tunnels of time
A show made to say, that we’re not just clay
Our essence still lingers to entertain and play
Temple of the slaves, rise from their Graves
Misfits and jesters alike, juggle souls with rotten spikes
Temple of the slaves, with guns blazing in the skies
A poetic endless war, with the dead at its core
Forsaken creations, will rock the foundations
This temple is on the rise
For the show must go on, so observe what’s been spawned
With no reason or a rhyme
A Malignant infection,
a pandemic show,
An afterlife achievement
Temple of the slaves
I sob and kneel beside the open grave,
relieved that no one's here to see.
Recalling all the happiness she gave,
I hope her spirit is now free,
and sadly wonder what is wrong with me -
my friend, my lover and my wife
is dead and wickedly, I took her life.
She died asleep upon our bed.
Why did I stab her with this bloody knife?
But then she stirs and lifts her head...
written 7th May for Dear Heart Constance's Dizain contest
Like Angels, Winged
by Michael R. Burch
Like angels—winged,
shimmering, misunderstood—
they flit beyond our understanding
being neither evil, nor good.
They are as they are...
and we are their lovers, their prey;
they seek us out when the moon is full
and dream of us by day.
Their eyes—hypnotic, alluring—
trap ours with their strange appeal
till like flame-drawn moths we gather...
to see, to touch, to feel.
Held in their arms, enchanted,
we feel their lips, so old!,
and with their gorging kisses
we warm them, growing cold.
From "Blood Songs of the Vampire." Keywords/Tags: vampire, vampires, undead, blood, fangs, bite, body, supernatural, superstition, surreal, angel, angels, winged, wings, flit, flitting, good, lovers, prey, day, moths, flame, appeal, attraction, lovers, kisses, warm, cold, dark, surreal, horror, evil, night, grave
In a cavern for all the Undead,
they examine the hole in her head,
when she opens her thighs,
maggots drop from her eyes
(it's the smell of sardines that they dread...)
written 23rd of May for Tania's Bawdy limerick contest
To the whiff of an entire horde
of the decaying undead, they stink.
You can't stand the rots
And flops towards reality..
Zombies drool all over everything
Imagining a scent so putrid,
but can't taste anything.
I hear zombies…
The groan of the undead,
the sound of them dragging
their body parts behind
them, the spitty hiss they make
as their decayed teeth,
yellowed and full of pulpy
bits of their own flesh, snap
as they try to bite you..
Their terrible hunger
evokes painful sounding moans
as they hiss and snap
at their meal.
The undead?
One day, a high summer season, I drove my bike
along with a narrow track, the led me deep into
a landscape that once had been domesticated
but now had gone back to nature,
I came upon a small clearing ringed by tall
umbrella trees leaving the clearing in an ominous
half- light where sun glare danced among
the branches of trees and bushes; I saw three
hearses and a van, none of them had wheels
the windows of the last-ride-cars had been
taken down and flimsy curtains put up to give
it a resemblance to home.
A family of itinerants had found sanctuary here
and I was not welcome; they threw pebbles at me
and I had to turn the bike around sine
narrows forest road ended at their camp.
They came running, trying to catch me, and dogs
snapped at my heels. I have never attempted t
be back since but, often think why some people
are so poor they have to live in a hearse.
I have a heart not pumping not feeling
It hangs on my chest serving no purpose
I want it to hurt but it got nothing
Dried all up of life's forgotten repose.
I am soaked in decades unprocessed truth
Forever trapped in perfect preserved corpse
Without preview of underlying roots
Of how to this kind of creature I've morphed.
I'm undead but I learn to live with it
There is no part in me for emotions
No fatal focus attached to be hit
For cold body to be back in notion.
Eternity will be my company
One hell joke that will never be funny.
the undead arise
slowly lurking around me
to prepare moon's feast
Halloween Senryu for Laura Loo
10/20/2017
She asks "May I dance with you, sweet Dracula
I really enjoy your Transylvania Twist
Perhaps later on a sexy slow dance
I'll happily expose neck and wrist
I love that red cape flows with ease
While others stare with jealous eyes
The undead boogie is such a treat
It makes me feel weak in my thighs
Your eyes are very hypnotic
I have not one thought for another
Yes my blood has begun to turn cold
Still you make this heart feel a flutter
When the evening is done don't fly away
I'll gladly accompany you to your crypt
Just one more time around the dance floor
Wait! Is that my blood I see on your lip?"
For the May I Dance With You Halloween Contest sponsored by Galen DS.
Note: "Transylvania Twist" is from the song Monster Mash.
The Undead
Cast out from life and death alike ,a zombie walking the grey path where time holds no meaning like the multitude before me ,lost in their own despair marching onwards to a timeless rhythm with no end
the promise of love and life a distant memory all but forgotten
Grasping at mirages only to realise that they are nothing more than chains of love that shackle me to this dark place
Alone among my kin Im dying a death of my own design
Help me ......please
I gnaw and bite at the chains that hold me here seeking release
A Hope that burned bright now died in winds of time
I now fight everyday out of habit rather than love ,loyalty or hate with no hope of victory against the spectral apparitions of my own conjuring
Listen carefully and you will hear my silent cry, an echo that resonates within
Well Venus was in Pisces the night
I walked the dark streets of Moscow
With three dark Gothic men from
The deep city’s' underground...they
Led me to a chamber where the
High Priest still had blood on his
Lips from the two young girls that
Now lay lifeless in his big black
Velvet bed...he motions his
Loyal patrons to leave us and without
A sound they remove the bodies of
The damned and motions me to
Sit down...I bit my lip 'til the blood
Ran down my chin then before I
Knew what had happened we
Were in his bed and his teeth had
Pierced my neck...it was erotic
And intoxicating, drifting in and
Out of my head, drunk on ecstasy
On the brink of death...I could feel
My body dying and my spirit
Rising to join the other side
He pulled me back by slitting
His wrist and making me drink
Of his blood...I guess he just wanted
A new plaything to join his ancient
Coven and so now I am neither
Alive or dead...I am of the
Undead!
Cough, blood everywhere, sneeze
Rotten flesh, wracked in disease
Brainless, basic instinct to eat
Cannibal, horror that they greet
Wanderer, on the road to no where
Dead eyes, unintelligent stare
Groan, the cry of death
Violence, like a junkie on meth
Shuffle, lack of balance
Virus, for the living zero tolerance
Decay, everyone will die
Apocalypse, the time is nigh
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