Wicked ThingsA Poem by icelandicblue
Mischief danced in the dark
as the odor of dead things overpowered the scent of pine. This was not a place for the fair folk or butterflies but a cold space where demons gathered behind unspoken names. There is power in naming things for then true natures are revealed, and there are some things too unspeakable to behold. Jagged shadows wait at the crossroads where the ley lines hum beneath their need and the devil lurks in the script of fine print. Things of the night are conjured forth by sweat smelling of desperation and souls unraveling in madness. Pacts signed in the blood of the reckless are more forever than forever itself in this hollow where wicked things come to feast. © 2014 icelandicblueFeatured Review
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Added on October 7, 2014Last Updated on November 1, 2014 AuthoricelandicblueBostonAboutI do not accept any new friend requests unless we have read and commented on each others poetry. No exceptions. I have enough homework as it is. I expect reciprocity in our exchanges. Read my work and.. more..Writing
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