TWILIGHT
The Darkest Hour
A young boy implores his mother
'What will happen when time stops?'
'Time will never stop,' the mother consoles
And within time the young boy turns into a man.
The young man asks his teacher
'What will happen when time stops?'
The teacher replies, 'Time itself is not the issue,
It is what you do with your time that matters'.
As time passes yet again, the young man
becomes old. The old man sits at his writing desk,
Writing what has occurred during his time.
He stops, and looks at the clock.
He recalls his mother saying time will never stop.
He remembers his teacher telling him what you do with time is important.
As he lays down his head and closes his eyes
he says to the empty room,
'I meant, what will happen when time ceases to be...for me.'
Our World’s Demise
The man watches dully
as flotsam washes up
along the once pristine shore
He can remember a time
when the water was clear
and not strewn
with old tossed away scrap
When the trees were full
and lively, in which birds sat
and sang melodies
And the hills behind
were dotted with flowers
Which man and creature
alike could enjoy
The man climbs on his steed,
disheartened
It was not so long ago
that the world was different
And why has it had to change now?
After centuries of no such change
It is not how he remembered it,
even a few seasons ago
He wonders, as he rides away,
into the darkening gloom
how many years will pass
before it once again becomes
the beautiful world he once knew.
The Pool
Walking to the waters edge
I see a reflection that is me, but yet not
Within the slight ripples on the surface
The face I see staring back at me
Looks frightened
The figure in the water moves
Startling me as I stand still on the bank
The young woman is clothed in white robes
Behind her is a place that is not where I am
I watch as the girl places something
quickly under some stones
And with a furtive glace around, is gone
Again I am looking at my pale self
Mirrored back at me in calm glassy waters
As I turn away from the pool
something catches my eye
A small mound of stone
Curiosity overpowers and
I lift up a hot dusty rock
Underneath lies an ancient scroll,
torn and dirty
As my eyes search the page
of fantastic and sorrowful things
I gasp, unsettled
Numb, the paper falls from my hands
Showing the clear sky above
that the author of the parchment was me
But yet not
Jack
Thick fog cloaks
narrow cobbled streets
under a tainted starlit sky
clogged with tattered forms
Harried whispers in the night
hiding in the shadows,
the unknown monsters lurking
in the dank and crowded streets
just around the corner
vampires in our world
crimson liquid seeping
into cracks in the cold ground
Statuesque
Cold, hard eyes
Unblinking, unchanging over centuries
Dark marble, quarried stone
Strong and unyielding
To the passage of time
Its grotesque yet strangely beautiful face
The unmoving eyes
Like that of its companions
Stare blindly down towards
Ordinary people doing ordinary things
Its thick wings branch precariously out
Stubby stone claws grip its perch for eternity
Its once unblemished body now speckled
By the gulls, pigeons and crows
That make it their resting place
Such is the life of a gargoyle
The Tides
Surging forth
Like waves against
a battered shore
Swarms of people
storm foreign lands
For what they believe
Hordes of figures
flow down streets
With signs and voices
raised high
For what they believe
Like the pull of the moon
on the oceans
The tides of humanity
will never cease
Being pushed
and pulled
In the direction
Of belief
Lost
Scattered like leaves
Blown about in the wind
A fleeting tempest
Swirling cyclone
My mind wanders
Trying to piece
The memories together
Like cut and faded
Remnants of film
On the cutting room floor
Found
Walking down a leaf strewn path,
Something catches the eye
glinting, a small silver key
A jolt surges
Muddied faint images
flash through the mind
A time long past,
A young girl in tattered dress,
A rundown house
The small key feels heavy,
Like lead as it rests in the palm
It becomes warm, starts to glow
Pictures flutter behind the eyes
A child's cluttered room...
A small cupboard...
A locked chest...
The key begins to burn
Continuing down the path
The glow intensifies
Picking your way down the path
And into the trees
Doppleganger
I heard a strange voice
in my head
Strange,
in that it was my own
but not what I had said
It seemed I was talking
to myself, but
not knowing what I was going to say
What is wrong with me?
I wondered
But, I soon feel into
a deep slumber
The disembodied voice
tortured me for days
I did not know why
I had to hear this other voice's pleas
I tried to find my bearings,
piece together what the voice had said
It said for me to go to the park
after others had gone to bed
I followed the instructions
and went to the park, after dark
I waited around, but heard not a sound,
except for the odd dog bark
Then all of a sudden
out of the bushes walked a man
Not only a man, but a man that was me,
only from another place
The twin man spoke, in a sort of choke
'Have you ever heard of a doppelganger?'
asked the man, grinning evilly
'No,' I replied as I looked
in his red rimmed eyes
'I don't know what you mean;
'It is said if you meet your doppelganger,
A person that looks just like you,
&
nbsp; That soon you will die, never to rise,
and that will be the end of you.'
I tried to move, but felt strangely weak,
and I fell to the ground in a heap.
As I lay on the ground
The twin man glowered
and said simply,
'It is time to sleep.'
Modern Warrior
Forging my way
Through the early morning gridlock
Jostling and struggling
Through the throngs
Defending my treasure
From modern pirates
Surviving the scalding morning coffee
Imbibed with the energy
To face The General in charge
The race to the deadline
Avoiding the gaze
Of the ranting raving wanderers
As the day comes to a close
Standing my ground
Against society
The Red Sky
The hideous masked faces
Leering, jeering
A pair on hands and knees
Hands point upwards
The crimson blood-red sky
fills my vision
Strange swirling stark
white shapes and patterns
Dance haltingly
across the red sky
My fate unknown
Nightstalker 1
Skirting the light
Blending with shadow
Only sorrow in its thoughts
Draining life and joy
From all who encounter it
Eternal struggle
To move into light
Swamped by sadness
That which is
Depression
Nightstalker 2
Skulking in deep recesses
Clouded by fear
With only malice on its mind
Grasping at villainous thoughts
Driven by greed
No light pierces its soul
No love wraps itself around it
In a cloak coloured dark green
From an eternity of jealousy
The creature called
Hate
Peripheral Vision
I once thought I saw a cat alongside me
But when I turned around
There was nothing
It was just my peripheral vision
I sometimes think
People are following me
But it is just my peripheral vision
Peripheral vision makes it seem
As if there is a whole other world
That you just can't fully see
I wonder if ghosts and spirits and such
Live there, just out of reach
I am reminded of philosophy
When thinking of things such as this
The paradigm about the monster's nightmare
That we are all just a part of a dream
And don't actually live in reality at all
Peripheral vision makes me think
of Deja vu, Things we believe
we have already done before
In this life, or another
As if they are just outside
of our mind's reach
Peripheral vision taunts us
Only giving us glimpses
Hiding in the shadows
Letting us believe that
What we have seen may be real
What if it is we,
Who live in a peripheral world
That exists on the boundaries
A world that others can't fully see?
Modern Vampire
The pale powdered complexion
the long cape and the fangs
with glowing red contacts
and sharp pointed teeth
requisite dark flowing locks
and sinister mystique
This sensual being
seems glamourous, seems fun
Wouldn't it be cool
to be four-hundred-and-one?
The ideal, illusory immortal existence
The liquor of life, crimson and thick
Drained of this drink
You would cease to exist
Looked at by the public
as if you're a freak
You go to your dances,
your clubs, your events
mingle with introvert, Goths and the punks
Draped in silken shadows
hidden, mysterious
You are what society whispers
in fear,
You are what they believe
A Vampyre to be
Reflections
A water droplet is silent witness...
...Of the life and circumstances reflected within it
From the mundane...
...small creatures rustling in the brush
To unspeakable acts...
...discovered in desolate wilderness
...If only a droplet could speak
Water Whispers
Millions of water droplets
Flow silently as one
over the planet
Millions of droplets
Suspended effortlessly
Above ocean depths
The silence becomes
Tympanic symphony
In an instant
Midnight Cove
A little girl wakes in the middle of the night,
Her room is filled with darkness,
Save a lone light shining through the window,
From the docks at the edge of the water.
A strange feeling comes over her
as she looks out the window
All is quiet, and still and eerie,
No one in the village can really say why.
Many people live in the village,
More than double the population
How is this possible?
Well, use your imagination.
In daylight the villagers do their business
The town seems ordinary compared to at night.
It is only when dusk falls,
that the strange things begin.
The villagers rush home before dark,
But they can’t explain why they do.
It has always been like that,
for as long as any can remember.
If you are foolish enough to be outside past dusk,
You feel as though hundreds of eyes are upon you.
None of the residents have ever done this, mind you,
As far back as they can remember.
It is only the rare visitor,
who won’t know the rules.
Sometimes, when the residents
are at home in their beds
They hear strange screams and shouts,
It is from some unsuspecting visitor, who happened to be locked out
When dusk falls,
that is when the strange things begin
As the other villagers come out to play.
In Midnight Cove, you are never alone night.
Tree of Life
Bridging three worlds,
the strong and ancient tree
Its roots stretch far
Into the dark underworld
Its trunk thrusts through
Our serene and earthly plane
Its branches strain
Upwards into the heavens
The Timeless
Forever stilled
Unmoving
Unblinking
Eroding and broken
Lying in the dust
Almost forever forgotten
Personified ash
And dust of centuries
Vague
A human shell
Once full of soul
And personality
Droves of the living walk
Solemnly past empty shells
On ancient sidewalks
Forever preserved
F
or the future to
Glimpse the past
Starbucks© Society
Fast Food
Impatience
Cell phones, distractions
Early morning, afternoon, evening
McDonalds© and Coke© sponsored everything
Snobbery
New is old
And old is new
Absurd clothing
Trendy pubs and even trendier
Coffee bars, Exotic cuisine
Bookworm cafe revival
Along with airheads
Fast cars
Spurn transit
High price tags = status
Everyone expects something for free
Even if it is only whipped cream
For their Grande mocha coconut Frappuccino©
Under Starry Skies
Mountains glow like dying embers
Lit by the quickly fading sun
The blue stream turns to liquid silver
Under muted light
As the colours drain from the land
Small bright lights dance fleeting
Through the trees and flowers
Ethereal
Hidden from the human eye
Only seen in peripheral vision
Under a starlit sky
Is when the fairies come out to play
The Blood of a Dead Poet
The man that lurks in the shadows,
Was once a poet, an artist of words.
He once was living, with blood in his veins,
But is now no longer alive.
He spends his days lurking in the shadows.
When night falls, he leaves his comfort zone
To roam, in search of others
that were once like him.
The man that lurks in the shadows, realizes
His victims do not fully see him,
Only a movement,
a flash in their peripheral vision
They think they just imagined what they saw,
But realize to late it is reality,
And quickly, silently, all their creativity flows out
As the dark red liquid flows heavily
onto the soiled floor
The man that lurks in the shadows, says to his dying prey, “You were once like me, a poet, an artist of words.”
He sighs, as his victims' eyes look blearily into his own, “And now you will be like me again, what I have been for centuries.”
The man that lurks in the shadows laughs,
“I was once you, and now you have become me!
Spending your eternity in search of others that were once like you. You will suffer in your need
You will thirst for release.”
The man that lurks in the shadows
looks down at his victim, his prey.
The victim with little strength, struggles to speak “Can I go with you?” they whisper.
The dead poet laughs yet again, and says ‘no.’
He continues in a raspy voice,
“All of us must find our own place. We can never hunt together. You must use your creativity. What you had in your life, you must use in death, that is the only way you will gain what you need”.
At that, the man that lurks in the shadows is gone, leaving his victim, his prey,
to struggle to their feet, and find their own way,
to lurk in the shadows
in which they will spend eternity.
The man that lurks in the shadows, his face wan and stretched with an eternity of struggle.
He continues on, in his never ending search,
For the liquid of life he needs to continue his torturous existence
The man wanders for hours, until a soft glow appears on the horizon.
He quickly makes his way to a large, green dumpster and crawls in, hiding in the farthest corner.
He sleeps,
but is aware of what is going on around him.
No one disturbs him that day.
The man that lurks in the shadows, as the day turns to dusk, crawls out of his temporary home,
He sees a young woman, a painter he senses,
an artist of images, walking down the street.
She is the only soul around.
In a flash he is behind her. She gives a little start, having seen something in the corner of her eye.
She turns to look over her shoulder, and sees nothing, but senses movement on her other side.
Before she realizes what is happening,
she is on the ground in a wet pool.
She falls in and out of consciousness,
aware the pale man standing above her is talking.
And as soon as he appeared,
he has abandoned her in the street.
She stands up, slowly, on shaky legs,
And heads toward a shadowy spot up ahead.
The man that lurks in the shadows,
on his quest for a more substantial meal
Realizes suddenly that he has grown weary of this, his eternal struggle for survival,
“If”, he thinks to himself, “you can call this survival.”
The man knows that he is no longer alive,
and wonders how he can end his eternal existence
He thinks back to the man that created him,
he was, the man recalls, a famous poet,
a man named Edgar.
He tries to recall what the man had told him
Of how he could end his existence as the bringer of everlasting death.
The man that lurks in the shadows wanders aimlessly for hours.
He climbs up a sandy bank, digging long, gnarled fingers into the ground for purchase
Standing on the top of the bank, the man gasps,
an ancient sound
He looks out for miles,
over a dark, inky black expanse of water.
He can hear the waves lap noisily against the beach in the silence of the night.
He remembers what it was that this poet,
this Edgar, had told him.
The only way to cease your existence, is to walk into the water, never looking down
“Look only straight ahead,” Edgar’s voice rings hollowly in his head, “look towards the horizon, and,” Edgar admonishes, “only go when you see a soft yellow glow on the horizon, it will not be painful that way.”
The man that lurks in the shadows,
Scrambles down the sandy bank
as fast as his old legs can move
He walks close to the waters’ edge, and then lowers himself to the ground.
He sits, still as death, legs brought up to his chin, staring out over the ocean.
He waits patiently, hours drift by,
Until he notices a pale yellow line slowly growing larger, where the ocean seems to end.
At first, the man does not move,
he is hesitant, unsure.
The man that lurks in the shadows
slowly rises from the ground,
Not moving his eyes from the pale glow.
He moves his left foot, and places it in the water, and then moves his right.
Looking ahead, never down,
the man strides into the water, slowly,
yet full of purpose. As he does so,
the man that lurked in the shadows whispers,
“This is the most poetic way to go.”
As the last of his head sinks under the waves,
The water turns dark crimson
With the blood of a dead poet.
The End
###
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Discover other titles by Caitlin McColl
Under A Starlit Sky
Little Gods
Cogs & Corsets: A Steampunk Collecti
on vol 1
Of Adventure & Antiquity: A Steampunk Collection vol 2
The Dark & Shadowy Places
Ex Cineribus Resurge
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