The Darkest Season


Tendons tear; shredded through tension; bare,
Screams of unmentioned prayers, though contention wears,
With an attentive stare - yet darkness masks the artists grasp,
Eyes of a scarlet flash, erupt through ash,
Disruptions pass; a nearly inaudible whisper,
Passes through the jaws of the prodigal figure,

"One of many; they'll be applauding my wisdom."


Shivering breezes bite like serrated incisors,
Blinking brings agony; sharp blades upon eyelids,
Plucking at strings; a harp played amongst silence,
Bound to the bone with a gradient rising.

Steps leave prints as I go; through the glistening snow,
There's a shifting of tones; a seemingly blistering glow,
Leads to a cabin ablaze, in the distance through smoke,
I dash through the door in an instance of hope,

"Is anybody here? If there is you must go!"

Stumbling room to room, I find the place emptied,
As a clatter from the kitchen arises to tempt me -
Abruptly, the blaze fades, are my eyes playing tricks?
What is the guise of this gift... Then to the corner my eyes shift.

Cloaked in shadows, a figure stands waiting,
Grand and impatient, in his hand, a damned statement,
Sharpened to a point, a blade dangles loosely,
He opens his mouth, and quivers pass right through me,

"Welcome, make yourself at home amongst the severed trees,
If you believe in heaven, please, pray now, because you'll never leave."

Looking sideways, I sprint for the door, but he blocks my way,
The scent of death & shadow brings a lofty shade,
Twisting, he drives deeply and locks the blade,
In the muscle of my thigh, here, in shock, I sway.
Stalking above me, the bloodshot eyes of an artist who has found his art,
As the darkest season wraps its fingers around my heart.