10. Skeletons Skinned

It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream. Edgar Allan Poe

Whispers whistling in the blowing wind,

I hear them, I don’t fear them calling for me,

In the disappearing light, I’m just able to see

The fallen flesh of the skeletons skinned.

 

Lingering in the night is the fright

Between the hour of the owl and the rat

There’s only a cry, a swift fly of a bat

Now is the time to run, now it is time to bite.

 

Shades of grey and shadows will cover me,

The blood is blooming like a mesmerizing flower,

And lower in my guts I feel the need, the power

Of the dark and the dusk around the ashen tree

 

Lurking in the twilight of the corners, there is he,

He, who is the mellow marrow and the bones,

Risen from the depth, from beyond the gravestones,

He’s the scary scarecrow, the rickety creep

Of the skeleton skinned, that is now called

 

‘Me’.

 

© Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere

18/03/2016

Author's Note

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed this poem. Create honest place and honest ending. You create scary ending and a learned understanding. Thank you Rudi for sharing your outstanding poetry.
Coyote

[Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere]

Thanks for reading the writings of my collection 'Under the wings of the Raven'. :) Rudi

[Coyote Poetry]

You are welcome my friend.