Silence


At one time, silence was our enemy.
But now, it allows us to sleep peacefully.
No light appeared when we died, No angels sang in Welcome.
There is no place for us to go,
But there is an afterlife.
For we are still here,
Sleeping for all Eternity.

Night Creatures


The minute hand creeping 'round the clock,
Hours slowly ticking away.
They sit and count the minutes until the arrival of darkness.
Their agitation grows as the sky darkens,
And the diminishing light sets them free,
To roam the Earth and do what they may.
As we sleep, they collect souls,
Tormenting the unfortunate ones for eternity.
Any who happen upon them in the deep of the night,
Shall not live to see the colorful dawning,
And will forever be,
Trapped in darkness.

MEMORIES

In the attic, buried beneath junk,
Sits a trunk full of memories.
Old photographs, a yellowing wedding gown,
All that remains of a family's past.
Generations have kept their belongings there,
And today, their memories are discovered by a child.
Small, delicate hands lift the latch and open the trunk.
A gasp of surprise, and eyes glowing with wonder,
The child stares into a past she's never known.
An old army photograph shows her the grandfather she never knew.
A pistol, with rust on the barrel, shows the date, 1896.
All these things and more,
She gently lifts out of the trunk, and lays on the floor beside her.
Then a yell from below, and the magical spell is broken.
Sighing, she puts everything away,
Silently promising to return,
Then she closes the trunk.
But as she runs down the stairs,
She hears a faint whisper.
Thank you, is all they say. Thank you,
For reaching into the past, and sharing our dreams.

The Warrior

Standing on the hard, sunbaked ground,
Trying desperately to shut out the faces of the men he killed,
Watching a crystal, blue stream, pure and untouched by the war.

Wind howls across that stretch of land,
Carrying with it the moans of the dying.
The injured enemy lies unattended, chocking on their own blood and vomit,
Death is slow in coming.
The Victorious army celebrates, drinking and singing,
Praising themselves on a job well done.
They will offer no aid to the dying enemy,
For mercy, compassion, and forgiveness, are lost amidst the joyous haze of victory.
As the curtain of night falls,
Shadows spring forth from the spreading darkness,
Creating an eerie tableau.
The battle is over, the war has been won, but the price was higher than anyone had imagined.

The last warrior leans against a towering oak,
Surverying the shattered landscape.
Now the battlefield is all but silent,
Wind rustling leaves is the only sound that disturbs the final resting place of so many,
The moaning and crying of the dying has stopped.
Their bodies lay strewn on the ground, as their blood soaks into the mourning Earth.
The injured have finally passed on, hopefully to a place where they will suffer no more,
If such a place exists.

Their deaths do not bring the Warrior joy.
They were the enemy, but they were also,
Husbands, Fathers, Sons, Daughters, Mothers, Wives.
He is saddened by the deaths of so many because,
He knows that he is the only one that has learned from what has happened.
Soon, the memories of this war will fade,
And the reason, the real reason, it was fought,
Will be forgotten.

The people who called on him to lead them into battle,
Will forget why they needed him so desperately,
And will turn their backs on him again.
The Warrior, a professional soldier, who would fight and die for his people,
Will be shunned, cursed, and have his morality questioned,
By the very people he would give his life for,
The people who asked him to save them.
When they no longer have an enemy to fear,
They will turn away from him, disgusted by what he did to save them.
Once he has saved them, ensured their freedom,
They will hate him.

But the Warrior never expected medals or parades.
He knew from past experience how they would treat him,
But that didn't matter.
He saw it as his duty to defend his people, their freedom was more important to him, than anything else.

They are celebrating, thanking God for their victory,
And tomorrow, when the sun beats down on the bodies of their foes,
They will look in horror, and disgust, at what the Warrior did to save them.
When they are digging graves for their enemies,
They will begin to question if it was worth the cost,
Wondering if the price was too high, and begin criticizing the decisions made by the Warrior.

He takes one last look at the darkened and silent battlefield.
He knows where each body lies, he knows how each one died.
For years to come, he will see their faces, hear their screams,
And once again, see their bodies littering the ground.
Until the day he dies,
The Warrior will wonder who those dead soldiers were,
And who could they have become if they had chosen a different path.

Hear Me

Does anyone hear me? Can anyone see me?
I walk the crowded halls, invisible to all.
No one speaks to me, no one looks at me.
Everyday I walk into that building,
Silently hoping that someone will say something to me.
Now, even an unfriendly word would be welcome.
They ignore me, as they always have,
Teachers, fellow students, even my parents.
No one sees, No one hears.
Nothing I do can draw their attention.
Nothing I say, outlandish or threatening, reaches their ears.

Workmen cover the bullet holes with plaster and paint.
The blood is gone, and yellow tape prevents anyone from entering the Library.
My favorite place in the whole school,
My sanctuary, the only place where I could find solace.
Nothing prevents me from entering.
I see the desk where I hid, the blood-stained carpet, the place where everything went black.

No one heard them, No one saw them.
Everyday they were screaming silently.

Why doesn't anyone speak to me?
The silence is unbearable.
On the wall, near my locker, there are pictures,
Above them are the words, "In Loving Memory"
My picture is there along with many others.
I turn and walk back to my classroom, shrouded in disbelief,
It can't be real, it isn't real.
Things like that don't happen in school.
Someone would have stopped them, Someone would have protected us.
That's their job.
I'm not dead. No really, I'm not.

Tomorrow

Will the sky be blue, Tomorrow?
Will the ocean be filled with life, Tomorrow?
Is there Hope for Tomorrow?

When the sky darkens, and never clears,
What will They tell the children?
When they ask where the Sun has gone,
As the people around them die, one by one,
What will They tell the Children?

The last of the sun is devoured by clouds.
No one should have been surprised,
The nights grew ever longer, until the Sun was gone,
And with it,
The Calm and Structure of our Civilized world.

Though the light did not disappear in an instant,
Though They knew it was coming,
The World came to a sudden and terrifying halt,
As Madness and Depravity swept the World.

No, not everyone went Crazy,
Not everyone became Inhuman Monsters.
A few tried to stay Civilized.
A few always do.

Will Their Children inherit the Earth,
When the crazies have killed each other off?
NO. No one will inherit this rock,
Except of course, Bacteria and Viruses.
They'll be the only things left.
Humanity will be a distant memory.

What will You tell the Children,
When the sky begins to darken?
Will You tell them the truth?
Without the Sun, Not much will Survive,
Definitely not Them.
What will You tell the Children,
When They ask about Fish and Animals?
Will You tell them,
That You, and past generations,
Killed off the Fish and the Animals with Pollution and Hunting.

And when They ask,
If They'll grow up,
What will You tell Them?

The Other Side

The other side, what awaits me there, I do not know.
The door stands open, but my fear holds me back.
I must walk through and look at what lies beyond,
But fear of the unknown holds me back.

Darkness, all around me.
Darkness engulfs me.
The door stands open, So are my eyes,
But only the doorway provides light.
Darker and darker, until I can stand it no more.
I must walk through to the other side.

White light surrounds me, passes through me, becomes a part of me.
There is nothing on the other side.
Nothing waits for me there. Nothing except the light.
Where are the angels, the pearly gates that should stand before me?
Where are they? Is this Heaven or is this Hell?
I cannot tell.

Perhaps this is Hell.
This nothingness, This all encompassing void,
This is Hell.
No flames, no brimstone, no parties to end all parties.
Nothing.

Perhaps the other side is only what we make of it?
If this is all I expect, If this is all I want oblivion for eternity,
Then this is all I will find.
Oblivion is nothing.
What if I change my mind? If that is possible, can I make it different?

Maybe Hell is the inability to change.
Perhaps this is my fate, to spend Eternity in a place of nothingness,
A place where only I exist.

But perhaps this is Heaven.
If it is then it is highly overrated.
Heaven seems to be quite boring. Then again, my life was pretty boring,
There's no reason it should liven up now.
Besides, who ever said Heaven would be fun?
If this is Heaven, then perhaps I would enjoy Hell better.
As long as it's livelier.

The other side.
What is on the other side?
I am not sure. All I know is that I feel gypped.
Cheated out of my afterlife, handed a lemon.
I want my money back.

Table of Contents
1. The Scarecrow