Midnight Hour-1st Edition

Midnight drips

cascading shadows

fellowship of fear.

Memories that twist and bite

vipers that draw near.

Rivulets of blood

creeping down your face

eyes sewn shut

to deny

the anguish and pain

that draws nigh.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

November 30/17

Originally written in Feb/March of 2016

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I do not know….

These words become a jumble on my tongue
twisted and sharp
coming out all wrong.
Stabbing and scoring
damaging your heart without meaning to.
Unable to stop
as the pain and past mingle together
and I make the same mistakes over and over.
I do not know how to be sweet.
I do not know how to be kind.
I do not know how to love.
My past is a charred ruin
of relationships burned
and love never given a chance.
Tears blur my sight
as I watch you leave
knowing that yet again
I have done this to myself.
I am sorry my love.
I am sorry my dear.
All I know how to do
is rend and destroy,
any who come to close
to the fire burning within.
©Jay-lyn Doerksen
November 30/17

Jester’s Bride

The little bell jingles and jangles
hissing an alert
‘here he comes’
‘here he comes’
all bow to The Jester.
I see before me tattered lace,
my beloved is trying to outrun me
when will she learn that I am her master,
her commander,
the love of her life?
These little torments
slicing away at her life
her heart
her soul……
They will strip her of her sanity
cloaking her in my wedding clothes,
and she will forever more be mine.
Ruling together on golden thrones
her shackles will be diamond encrusted
her clothing the best tattered silks
her mind little more than a game I play.
Never mind the hollow eyes
the grayish lackluster smile
this love of mine adores me
and will some day bear mine child.
©Jay-lyn Doerksen
Nov. 30/17
***I found the artwork via Pintrest on the internet. Artist’s name is David Ksomthing something. I am sorry I don’t have full name. I like his work.***

The Jester’s Bride

Twisting and turning, the garden path swirls about.
Lost within the leafy maze
unsure whether those statues are moving
or if it is shadows playing tricks?
I can hear the baying of the hounds
and wonder, can they be for me?
I escaped from the prison of my mind
fighting my way back
from the depths of the madness
only to discover that there is no way out.
I whirl around, fear tangent in the air
my breath comes in brisk gasps
fear reaching out with blackened limbs
ready to encircle,
to entwine,
to capture me and pull me back.
Twisting and turning, the garden path swirls
and the Jester roars.
His laughter savage
as I am pinned,
beneath his silvered gaze.
There will be no freedom,
no relief
only a soul mired in anguish
the Jester’s bride,
captured and maddened,
©Jay-lyn Doerksen
Nov. 29/17

Resist

Time and again

I have wished upon falling stars

closed my eyes and wished on dandelions.

I have wished at each birthday 

for the exact same thing,

a chance to stand at your side.

I fought this ride of emotion

tried to turn from the stallion

but he nuzzled my neck

until I could not say good-bye.

I hold your memory close by

a secret that I hoard

unable to share with anyone

this festering pain.

I dig deep within my chest

ripping free my shredded heart.

I resist your claim to me 

I resist the dreams you have given me.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

November 28/17

Submission

Like a beast prowling in the night

eyes glittering with light

I run and race

trying to keep pace

so as to not loose my heart.

You circle around

nosing in the darkness

finding my scent and able to follow.

No matter where I hide

no matter how I camouflage 

myself in the garden.

Our scents arise 

battling with the night air

lust and desire

a need that craves to be fulfilled.

You ghost up behind me

silently padding on wolfen feet

pouncing as though I were prey

my submission 

your dominance 

as you mark me as yours.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

 Nov. 28/17.

The Banshee’s Lament

A soft steady chant

a whispering whine

begins a slow waltz

erupting as the screams begin;

The Banshee’s lament.

Plucking at coiled hair

tears tracking down soiled cheeks

I can hear the soundless tune

that she has wept

for centuries

announcing our very own deaths.

Time and time eternal

we have tried to outrun

this family’s inheritance

of a crone sitting in the willow chair

keening and wailing

calling out souls to rest.

The Banshee’s Lament

a tale from the old country

brought forth in the new.

The song so seductive

blood falls apace

as I lay at her feet

my death to commence.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

 November 26/17