|Poetry by Darrell Treece and Ron Larson
|Lost Within a Trinity; The Damaged, The Obsession, The Psychotic
By Darrell Treece
It’s 3 p.m.
i lie on my couch
trying to sleep
but when i close my eyes
She is waiting
Her Beautiful Eyes
Those Bright, Beautiful Eyes
Burning through me
Like The Sun pierces the Night
Night - where i exist
Because the Sun taunts me
Pointing me out
“there he is! stare! gawk! ridicule him!
he has no soul!”
So i hunt in the night
the only Salvation i know
is found where shadows lie
:i can nearly see Her there
Beckoning me Closer
“Hold Me,” She Says
“Love Me Like Only you Can.”
my heart yearns to Obey
i crave Her touch
my soul pleads for One simple kiss?
To touch Her with my own two hands?
i would not dare to dwell in such fantasies
i go to Her – Only As She Calls me
i so hate my whole world
it is covered by night
my only light when She Speaks to me
Her Voice So Sweet A Melody
So Light and Feathery,
Then Her Lips are at mine-
Simply Heavenly Nectar to my soul
Surging through my heart
But She Knows NO FAULT
my work is my own
as the want is devoured
and the passion is suffocated
and love breathes it’s last
The dark events here
come from me
and my steels
HATE is a venomous nightmare
without mercy or remorse
seeking to quell the all-consuming inferno
She knows the silence of true peace
And the ever greedy fire
cool to a tolerable flickering-
Is there salvation in this?
No, only more sin
Slick, crimson sin
Chased away by murky water
(A SIGH OF COMPLETE SATISFACTION)
Her LOVE Forgives this sin -i know i loved it
motionless eyes - She loved it too-
She Saved me –& ended up in a dumpster-
Reclaims me From the Darkness -Guess again-
Quiets The Shadows in my heart -temporarily-
Gives Purpose to Things Lost -Gotta feed the need-
on the rest of this world -worms that they are-
Where do i go
so i don’t have to see
the sad eyes anymore?
(rough breath out)
so many terrorized eyes
i need to sleep
|To read other short stories,
click one of the titles below.
|About Darrell Treece
I am a married, father of five,
residing in north Alabama. My
current pursuit of a degree in
English Studies has reignited a
life-long passion for writing
poetry and short stories,
especially in the genre of horror
and the supernatural.
|Young Goodman Brown
By Ron Larson
Adapted from a story by Nathaniel Hawthorne
Young Goodman Brown was an open, optimistic youth
Who set out one evening in pursuit of the truth.
He gave a good-bye kiss to his pretty wife Faith
Who was wearing pink ribbons which framed her face.
He soon found himself in a deep, dark forest
Where he met an old man who looked dishonest.
He told Goodman Brown that he knew his father
Who cruelly whipped a Quaker wife and mother.
What’s more, he knew that during King Philip’s War,
His granddad killed Indian babies by the score.
The old man then said that he was the devil himself,
And that Salem’s elite loved him above all else.
Young Brown felt these words were too hard to bear,
So he fled deeper in the woods, now filled with care.
He came to a clearing where there was a bonfire
And where the town’s best formed an unholy choir.
There was the mayor and even the governor,
And when he saw Faith, it struck him like a dagger.
He fainted; when he came to, it was just daylight.
He didn’t feel at all well, such was his great fright.
He hoped what happened last night was a nightmare,
But there near him was a pink ribbon from Faith’s hair.
And never before had he been a sleepwalker.
From that time forward, Goodman Brown was no talker.
|About Ron Larson
Ron Larson is a retired
community college professor
(Ph.D.), and one of his hobbies
is writing all kinds of poetry. He
has had poems published in
such diverse magazines as Big
Pulp, Westward Quarterly,
Aphelion, Soul Fountain, The
Horror Zine, and The American
Dissident. His attached
Brown," is from his recently
self-published book, "66 Classic
Horror Stories Outlined In
Rhyme." The book is available
online, and his poem has not
been submitted elsewhere. He
thanks you for this opportunity.