CaptCouch

Vision fleeting, Strife unceding, Soul unsold, Create unmeaning. Beast unmaking, Heart unbeating, Ring of ice, Fate preceding. Pit of bleeding, Swords unsheathing, Beast of lore, Create your meaning. Clash entreating, Crowds are screaming, For you now, Fate proceeding.

Never a dull moment, Or so they say. Enticing and enthralling, Your lips at bay, Simply a tease. Upon thy throne, Your highness, truth undearing, A truth made thrown Into madness, Created of your own making. Silence unbearing, Yet stillness welcomed, Your form creates it, A threat, daring And taking as it may. Undying still yet, Your mutilated vision, Twisted upon the chair, Its form unbecoming, And corrupting until The clock takes its toll, Taking all and leaving nothing.

With inky clouds of flustered air The sinister red moon hides behind Deep shrouds With bite of bat and pure pestilence Lack of faith Not once before had I ever imagined The sight of black rainbows Weeping from within the depths Of frightened, Childlike heart Yet with opened eyes I pushed forth Wail of the cockerel Open further to examine The casket Only to find exactly what I Had expected A sigh and sob of Spectre alone, yet With outstretched hand I had hoped To dissipate Into majestic Comforting frost

"The demons," said the little girl. "They come out at night, Papa. They do." Her father merely looked at her with kind green eyes and a wrinkled smile. "Don't be silly, sweetheart," he replied. "It's just your imagination, and boy, do you have an active one," he chuckled. He ran his sausage-like fingers through his daughter's long golden locks of hair. She looked rather upset at his remark. "Hey!" she exclaimed. "What's that supposed to mean?" Her eyebrows were furrowed with inquisition and she crossed her arms, the sleeves of her pink teddy bear pajamas that were too big for her folding downward over her wrists. "It only means that you ca

Winter Upon my body chilled with the ghostly touch of winter, I wrap my arms about my chest, And tremble with the wicked air of a snowflake wind. I have but no clothing upon mine back, And only frostbitten hands may offer a reprieve, Yet it does no good. I will surely die. And from thenceforth have I but a thought, That of the hands of thine own, With a touch that which brings vernal tidings to the Earth, And unto my heart, Fingers which may melt the cruel ice of death, And rosy palms, to steal the evil wind within that threatens in willing Of my life of fragility to be taken. It is not a robe adorned with the fur of mighty Urs

Without The Moon Every night, I look unto the sky Every star glistens with light A guiding light Yet no light is so guiding As that of the moon. I gaze upon its majesty And I think That you are the moon Of my night sky Brightening my way Leading me Guiding me To your love. And so I wonder "What if it never was?" And then I think "What if you and I never were?" What if the moon was not there? What if you were not there? These questions lead me to think That if the moon was not there To look upon me in the night It would be as if you were never there. For if the moon is gone, Earth is put in disarray And if you are gon

Stagnant ambience accompanied the young boy as he laid in the darkness, gracing his ears with the quiet sound of the humming ventilation system. The ambience's sweet but unmelodic music gave the boy the knowledge that life was still in his veins, and the heart within his petite chest continued to beat. Ambience was the boy's friend; it was always there to embrace him and gently sing him to sleep when he felt lonely. Ambience loved the boy as its child, and would sing simply for his pleasure. Light suddenly invaded the room, slightly perturbing ambience, but ambience tolerated it, as it posed no threat to the boy. Playful as it was, light tic