Finish the Story-October #3

I have been given the opportunity to continue the story started by the wonderful writer over at the The Haunted Wordsmith.  I greatly enjoy reading how each of us contributes to making a single story. Please please check out her blog. You will not be disappointed.

The single sheet of paper, so thin, like parchment, seemed to jump into his hand. He looked over the spidery handwriting and realized that no one ever wrote like this today.

My Dearest David;

It has taken so long for you to succumb to your curiosity. During this time I have waited and waited.

I realize that this is confusing to you, but know my love, I have been waiting throughout the cycles of time for you. Every life you have lead moved you further and further away from our love. Now though I sense that you are ready to find me.

I shall wait upon the cliff where first we met.

Please my darling, don’t make me wait.

Love Tabitha.

David stared at the words written and began to feel. Warmth. Desire. Memories teasing, just out of reach. He began to fold the letter up, realizing that he must deliver it. However did he have to? It was actually addressed to him, even if the address was to Number 604.

David did not realize that he was being watched. That through the peephole of Number 604 a brilliant green eye gazed upon him. Crimson lips, wet with saliva, parted and a whispered breath whistled. She hoped that he would succumb, he would take the bait. For she had waited a long time to…….

I am tagging Britchy over at Bitchin’ in the Kitchen to continue the story.

 

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Chaos

Chaos.
Beautiful colors
gold
mauve
crimson
dance around my arching body.
Weaving my fingers
colored trendles pulled near
I make a tether
a leash
to keep me close
to Chaos.
With Chaos
I find reason
I find understanding
I find truth.
With Chaos
I cry
I rage
I forgive.
Chaos
rainbow colors
twisting
tying
pulling me close.
A lover of color and light.
Sept. 29/18
Photo by Petra Brýdlová on Unsplash

Moral Bankruptcy

***The 2nd of two poems submitted and rejected by The New Yorker. ****
When demons do fight
with knives and chains
looking to eat the masses.
Talons crooked
deep within the chest
attached to the godly soul
draining it of emotion.
The pain and despair
candy upon their lips
as they feed upon those
who litter the entryway to hell.
All who have claimed thy kingdom come
wake within sulfuric pits
burning within
burning without
paying for their sins.
It was hard to fathom
a great shock
gasps of alarm
upon awakening at Satan’s gate.
Voices wailed
decrying their goodness
their godliness
they did all they could to be true to the Lord’s word.
They trod on the rights of women.
They stamped down the rights of the LGBT.
They dismissed children whose voices
rose
calling them all assholes.
Cleansed the land of all those not alike.
But that was what we were taught
upon the knees of our fathers
and grandfathers.
There must be a mistake.
No mistakes here
only men who will now muster
confederates to their crimes
and they shall try to seize the demons place
only to discover there is another bottom to hell.
March 18/18
Photo by Ian Stauffer on Unsplash

Subvert

**I submitted two poems to The New Yorker. This is one of the two. I obviously was rejected but I can say with pride I was rejected by The New Yorker.***
There is an evil rot within
leaching from the heart
any illusion
that there remains some good.
Time and time again
it has been proven
that society has become doomed
trading away
ethics
morals
basic humanity.
Twisting and subverting
with each falsehood told
embraced
with zeal
religious fevor
becoming the very demon
decried as the enemy.
We have failed.
We have lost our way.
One by one
we have been corrupted
by lies
by slight of hand
and the tears that are wept
fall between the cracks
in this desert land.
©Feb. 23/18
Photo by Jason Leung on Unsplash

Brazen Beauty

A million dresses
thousands of shoes
lost in a revelry of pride
floating along
paid by the hour
ever man her sign.
A beauty of yesteryear
lost in the illusion
grand
elegant
graceful
dancing with each who asks
pleasure alive on her face.
As a child she had been taunted
belittled
scorned
for the way that she looked.
Kids can be cruel
words can cut so deep
scars left
that no one can see
but are still felt.
brazen beauty
gliding amongst the throng
her place firmly set
by the generous curves
of her body
the sharp intelligence of her mind
and crooked wit to sting them all.
Oct. 7/18
Photo by Hernan Sanchez on Unsplash

Perfect Man

He seemed to be the perfect man
holding doors
ordering wine with care
dinners out in high end places
a life she could never afford.
She ignored the warnings
the tides
the signs
believing that her prince had come
while her friends watched in fear.
Becoming lost in him
losing her way
her soul
her very being
until she was no more.
Sucked dry
withered
sered
eroding away
her life force.
Beside her
carefree
restored to youth
a man who only takes
never giving in return.
Oct. 6/18
Photo by Daniel Apodaca on Unsplash

Silver Tears

Everyone thought that they knew her.
Her story
her beginnings
her middle
but none dreamed of her end.
A beauty
like Helen of Troy
men at her feet
showering her in adoration
jewels
money
yet never love.
Slate grey sky
matching stormy eyes
if only they knew
if only they had paid attention
if only she had told them.
Wretched blackness
clings to her soul
reminding her of the past
the abuse
the agony
but on her lips
an enigmatic smile plays
dazzling her lovers.
Under moonlit sky
she wept
silver tears of pain.
Oct. 5/18
Photo by Blake Cheek on Unsplash