Sick

Sick

At midnight, when I close my heavy eyes,

And leave the war-torn universe behind,

I lumber lamely toward ethereal cries…

The splintered echoes screaming in my mind.

The noise, the noise… it twists me into knots,

And in the dark recesses… bloody stares,

My creaking steps, a moldy stench of rot,

A deathly shudder creeping through the air.

I see her waiting; mistress of my pain,

With mane of white and gown of ash and lace,

Her waning wisps of youthfulness remain,

While cracked, the aged mask upon her face.

And as her steely talons pierce my skin,

My heart stops while the real nightmare begins.

30 Day Poetry Challenge - Day Seventeen

Day Seventeen - Use volta (a poetic turn) in a poem of any length (it can be a sonnet, or not).




The Slumbering Sonnet
 
The moonlight sparkled on a lazy pond,
As rippling winds dispelled its glassy sheen,
A weary boatman settled back and yawned,
And dreamt a little tantalizing scene.
Solar inferno-scorched volcanic lakes,
An airy heat-haze shimmering with gold,
A dancing mystic shaman plagued by aches;
The rueful debt incurred by getting old.
But as four naked penguins climbed palm trees,
And coconut-shaped bubbles blew away,
The boatman’s dream-filled eyes saw only seas
Of periwinkle blue and skies of gray.
And yet, though ten-mile tides came crashing in,
The weary boatman woke with giddy grins.

Ethereal Aphrodite

Ethereal Aphrodite 

I go to sleep and see her radiant face,

Her eyes like sapphires, brilliant in their shine,

Her pinkish lips that smile with sultry grace,

And silky autumn locks in waves, divine.

While hand in hand, we stroll along the shore,

Bathed in moonlight’s glow and ocean’s spray,

We share a laugh, a burning kiss, and more;

A luminous love, not soon to fade away.

But yet her hair, her eyes, our love ring false,

A phantom in my ever-longing mind,

And when the morning’s wakeup rudely calls

I’m left to leave my lover far behind.

A silent voice then whispers and I beam,

That someday she will cease to be a dream.