At last, you picked up the brush
my spirit soars in quiet anticipation,
you create my insubstantial shadow
extract my emotion, and visualize me.

I hover beside you, eager with expectation
each brush stroke captures my essence
giving me presence with fire in my eyes
taming my spirit, working my form.

Controlling my image
you evolve my being
perpetuating the lie,
brushstroke by brushstroke
according to plan.

You think, this will relieve your conscience
creating a portrayal for all to see,
but I demand something more
a visual reminder of a monstrous deed.

My presence reaches out
to touch your skin,
and a shiver ripples over your flesh
a deep silence inhabits the room
fear causing your first distress.

Faster you paint
giving my chilled flesh form,
in a leap of faith
I bow to the dark mist of desire
and grow stronger
as you choke with understanding
that I will never lie down.

The brush strokes fly from your hands
my immortal soul seeks revenge
as you hear my whisper in the dark
closer to my world without end.

The crime that haunts you
torments your mind
for I will whisper in your head
long after you finish
this canvas of the dead.

Feed Us

Before the window they sit
hunched, haggard, forlorn in the icy rain
hungry eyes in the bleak mid-winter’s afternoon
a frozen landscape, mind numbingly cold
their bodies are still, their intellect lost
in the frigid outdoors.

Who knows what they really think?
when watching our silhouettes bathed in light
why do we not notice their plight?
we see the harshness nature deals
we know heavy snow will come again.

Before then, the rain will freeze
Do they know of the coming storm?
yet their predicament is far from us

We sit at the table eating a grand feast
within reach of a blazing fire
that casts a warm light around the room
as we suffer laughter and good cheer
no thought to the wretches outside.

Too important are we
our lively conversation
while good spirit sustains us
our failing, we have no concern
even when the icy rain turns to snow.

A child sees the scene unfold
collecting scraps from the table
she walks to the door
and ignoring the icy blast in her face
she walks into the frozen world
determined to feed the birds.

Shadow of a Dream

Under a shroud of darkness
I seek out that which I must
that, which is of little consequence
to quieten my quickening blood lust.

In an echo of a life that I once knew
a vigil each and every night
to watch her sleep through emerald eyes
for her alone my eternal flame will burn
and will exist evermore.

Hauntingly beautiful and so still
I gaze with longing at her form
even when she stirs in sleep
I cannot reveal my being
for I am nothing more
than a shadow of a dream to keep

As the darkness of the night recedes
and the first light rays make apparent threat
I, forever falling
into the darkness of the damned
return to my ruined crypt
until sun sets again.


Trapped within these walls
screaming out your name
dying to see the light
the silence is deafening.

They look without seeing
they listen only in part
comprehension is limited
my words lost, uninitiated.

Pain goes unnoticed
the past lies buried
but needed it is, far too often
for the monster will resurface
tormenting my mind
coaxing and caressing
as raw nerves are plucked
like strings on a demonic violin

Long ago I believed in the music
and its ability to heal
to free me from this cage
that belief has gone.

A Pagan Devil

The winter solstice is here again
the darkest day of the year
time to beware the pagan devil
who ascends the underworld
on the order of Norse God Hel
a demon evoking fear and terror

Turned from the light, through the longest night
he comes to town, half man half goat
any silence is broken by cloven hooves
as shadow shifts with menacing force

Driven by destruction his mission
to punish those wayward in their deeds
onwards he moves toward his victims
this horned devil will not listen to mercy pleas

Rolling out his tongue, long as an arm
exposing sharp fangs, thrashing with sticks
impervious to echoing cries
only his chains slow him down
as he continues tormenting the town

Compliant at last, but filled with terror
unfortunate wretches are thrown into a basket
some say for his supper, or to be cast into hell
only then, does the silence return to the longest night
as his shadow moves from all good people’s sight
in the distance the dawn is breaking
and Krampus is at last gone from the night.

A new dawn, a chance for mankind
to right their ways
before darkness descends
and terror stalks the town again.