Fear

As somber as the moon
When the light of the harvest has waned
The cold creeps upon my bed
As the shivers I feel
Cast dreaded doubt, deep within my bones
The crisp of my sheets grow wintry
As the dew sits upon the sill
My shadow ever narrower
Against the crack of the paint that peels
The tick of the clock once silent
Unheard, for merry noise filled this place
Now is engulfed with an ominous voice
As the hour chimes a hideous strike
Plank floorboards creak without footsteps
Calling my name on approach
No warmth I find beneath linens and wool
As my head bends and curls in the dark
Where my body does lie
This is not an insipid moment
But the blow of something near
Treacherous to the living, something that I fear
It ask not of my opinion, though I grown privy to its lust
As it seeks to pull me to it, through the dark I cannot trust
And it would lend itself to the cessation, to my heart I now can hear
To the silence of my reason, to the blackness of the gloom
That grows inside of everything, deep within my room

The Orchid

It was pressed hard within the worn yellow pages
The hard-bound book of "War and Peace"
Spoke well of their years together
The scent long past
The orchid with its delicately tied bow
Now just remnants; dried with curled satin
It had been yesterday, so it seemed
With a smile gingerly she placed it
Now she felt the decay
The feeling was old and crumbled as the pages
Leading to tears congregating and saturating the inscription
"My darling, I will always love you"
The wetness then traveled through the volume
Staining the blank last page