And The Darkness Moved


The Ghost's Palm

Everything was wrong,

and seemed out of place,

she screamed,

looking into the mirror at an empty face,

and that emptiness brought the fear,

as a transparent ghost

stroke her tangled hair,

she felt the ghost’s palm,

but it did nothing at all to calm,

suddenly she burst into sobs,

as another ghost was sitting

silently in a corner,

protecting the door,

as her blood stained body

was clumped on the floor,

the ghost remained in his seat,

in anger she clenched her fist,

then exhausted by an odd heat,

she realized,

that she had cut her own wrist.

No Mercy

There would be no mercy,

and the weak suffers most,

someone murdered the devil’s son,

just imagine a convoy

of a hundred thousand ghosts,

lining the coasts,

then crawling down a long hole,

with stained souls,

and eyes, black as coal,

no warning, just like global warming,

darkness swarming,

an elaborate coffin,

made of hatred and sin,

was offered for his burial,

the devil would walk,

he accepted, but there would be no more talk,

after that subtle piece of torture,

the streets emptying,

the hole filling,

no one meddling,

and no one admits to the killing,

the dust settling,

everything was suddenly too quiet,

an empty riot,

then the air oddly soothed,

and the darkness moved.

© 2011 Frank Atanacio

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