Month: October 2025

I once felt Death through the trembling glass of memory, when laughter lingered in rooms now cold,
And though His touch was cloaked in unholy grace, I turned away, refusing the omen,
For he was not meant to claim me yet,
A spectre stalking others, a burden I believed not mine to bear.

I buried His presence in silence, as one buries the dread they cannot name,
Deep beneath the weight of unuttered fears, beneath the pride that scorned my fragility,
And the cruel mercy of time, which does not heal,
But merely dulls the terror just long enough for it to rise anew

Years dragged by, a slow decay of days and shadows, where I swore He would not follow,
Where I laboured to strip Him from pulse and thought,
To let seasons gnaw away His chill until even memory forgot His tread.

Yet He returned.

Even in laughter’s brightest hour, when sunlight dared rest upon my skin,
He lingered just beyond notice,
A breath too cold, a shadow unaccounted for, a gente pressure upon my soul,
Reminding it that bliss is borrowed.

In crowded rooms, He stands unseen behind me,
A silent guest whom only I perceive,
A presence threading through every heartbeat with the patience of centuries.

Happiness becomes a fragile truce,
For His voice, velvet and relentless, whispers that nothing gold ever survives His gaze for long.

He calls to me not with terror, but temptation,
An invitation wrapped in rest.
Why struggle? Why fear the quiet that waits for all?

I feel him always: a breath along my neck, mid-laughter, mid-dream,
Reminding me that joy too has a pulse that will one day still.
He watches the rise and fall of my chest with a collector’s patience,
Counting each moment I steal from eternity.
His hymn sings beneath each heartbeat, a dark lullaby,
Sweet as surrender, sure as nightfall.

But he shall not rush me, shall not force my hand.
For Death is a gentleman who knows I will come for him,
In time.

One for sorrow, a phantom alone,
A single feather and a hollowed bone.
It circles the fields where the lost are found,
And carries the silence of a burial ground.

Two for joy, yet joy may sting,
A fleeting light on a fragile wing.
Their chorus rings where darkness bloom,
A wedding song for the open tomb.

Three for a girl, a fate foretold,
Wrapped in shadows, fragile and cold.
Her cradle sways where the candles weep,
And voices coil her restless sleep.

Four for a boy, with storm-worn hair,
Born to wander, born to scare.
The wind bends low to trace his path,
And whispers linger in aftermath.

Five for silver, a thief’s cold prize,
Stolen from sockets of staring eyes.
Coins from a crypt, a ring from the slain,
All glittering trinkets with traits of pain.

Six for gold, the devil’s seed,
Fire and famine, hunger and greed.
It blinds the seeker, devours the soul,
Offering plenty, the price of control.

Seven for a secret that festers and burns,
Locked in the dark where no one returns.
It rots in the marrow, it sleeps in the skin,
A curse on the heart that carries it in.

Eight for a wish, but beware what you crave,
For wishes may open the door to a grave.
The tongue may plead, the stars may hear,
Yet gifts from the night are never that clear.

Nine for a kiss, but bitter the taste,
A mouthful of ashes, a love laid waste.
It lingers like smoke on the lips of the lost,
A promise remembered, whatever the cost.

Ten for the bird you cannot miss,
A haunting call, both dark and bliss.
It waits on the boundary, where all beginnings end,
No foe, no lover, no ghost, no friend.

Lanterns bloom on crooked porches,
Orange against the creeping dusk.
The air is stitched with smoke and cider,
A sweetness laced with rust.

Branches bend like secret keepers,
Shadows pool in candle flame.
Footsteps echo down leaf littered paths,
Whispering October’s name.

Windows creak with gentle stories,
Laughter tumbling through the glass.
Outside fog drapes low and silent,
As through the world wears a mask.

Crisp the night and sharp the starlight,
Fields lie hushed in amber dreams.
The earth is clothed in fading fire,
And nothing is quite as it seems.

Beneath the hush, a warmth is glowing,
a hearth, a fire, a waiting door.
The night is wide, the wind is knowing,
As autumn gathers us once more.