The Wendigo

Sleet-like bullets fired through the driven snow,

While wispy banshees persistently played their mournful moans,

The sky became a palette white,

As temperatures descend, a mercurial kiss does the thermometer take,

We were out of luck and wandering, searching for something just enough,

To get us by until forgiveness rescinds our unfortunate remiss

Our fingers, numb from doorbells rang,

Growing brittle from the coldness of the weather

And from those who refused to listen to the call of our ringing bells,

Suddenly we saw, through a passing clearing in the sky,

Snow so high yet forlorn weeds stood tall still,

A wrought iron gate creaked and cried,

A crippled pathway we followed some ways back,

Where a decrepit old mansion we were faced with,

No intent of staying long, we broached the darkness swift and fast,

 A key crafted from cloth and arm, breached the door, allowed us in,

As intruders met we were, with sickly odors a warning flared,

With paralysis and nausea calling, a foul something filled the air,

What once was locked and forever bound, is now unchained without boundary,

Through broken seal, a sickness grows, mingling with the sleet and snow,

This darkness had been caged away, perhaps for centuries it remained this way,

And then comes this darkened eve, by a curse reprieved,

The Wendigo sleeps no longer.

A Shift in Light

Darkness, spoon-fed through a sliver, bends towards

A star of shining brilliance, creeping beneath the gates,

Those truncated arches connecting this to there,

Places most of us don’t care enough about,

That is, until its’ worth merits knowing,

You close your eyes and pray for dreams,

Awake once more, yet this feeling you endure, almost admire,

Lids partly open, eyes partly closed, a subtle softness filters through,

Flittering by, above and below, a harshness rising, darkness grows,

Shielded by deadly lashes, you resist possession, and watch in silence this blackening,

Barely recognizable after what’s been seen, those shiny, sparkly romances, now

Composed from composite angles, only a single shadow remains, infringed upon yet barely hindered by,

Linger it does, linger it must, holding pause in distanced trust,

Whatever resides behind that door, no sense in speculation, but guess you must,

A corridor perhaps, long and winding; with a narrow precipice shortened near the core,

Instead revealed is a sea of red; a blood-red hue, magnetic in its’ satin glow,

A soft and painful melody silhouettes a silky violent tone,

 Swaying slightly to the cadence of an incantation; echoic are the metrics of a breeze,

Moments prior thought escaped,

These same memories now you cannot escape,

Redefined by sight and sound, Awakened; it appears you are.