In shadowy realms of thought and dream,
Where senses rule in a macabre scheme,
My spirit roams, a restless thing,
Awakened by the senses' sting.
The taste of fear, on trembling lips,
A bitter nectar, that the soul sips,
It grips the heart, with icy hold,
A flavor, that the senses unfold.
The scent of death, it fills the air,
A fragrance, that none can bear,
It lingers long, in haunted halls,
A ghostly presence, that enthralls.
The touch of cold, on flesh so pale,
A sensation, that the senses assail,
It chills the bones, and numbs the skin,
A feeling, that the senses begin.
The sound of silence, it whispers dread,
A hush that echoes, inside the head,
It drowns out all, in eerie tones,
A symphony, of the senses' moans.
In every sense, a horror waits,
A phantom that the mind creates,
A fear that thrives, on senses keen,
In this world, a surreal scene.
About the Creator
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Comments (1)
Let me be the first to say BRAVO! This is utterly beautiful. Hello Austyn. I adore your poem. I read it twice just for good measure.