march 1/09 @ 9:38pm

clive barker's "the thief of always"



Mr. Hood's Holiday House

The night is foggy
Dew nearly drowns the flowers
in the morning.
This pond is murky,
going deep,
its bottom a sight
one has yet to come across.

The Holiday House looms near,
beckoning:
"Come."
I run away from its
demons and spirits
into the mist.
Blind.

The dragon comes
And I scream.




Poetry by strangelady13
Read 414 times
Written on 2009-03-02 at 06:46

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