Hope fades like an unwanted spectre, famished from the praises of its temple dwellers and immaculate clad serves, pouring jugs of perfume and wine, into insatiable altars.

Fear arises like an immortal god from a sarcophagus, holding in its grasp the regulations on how to stir the waters of discordance and sow pain in to the world of men.

Illumination ebbs through a crack on the wall, like water escaping its dungeon, leaving a howling darkness.

Only Ash and stone remains, plus the sunken steps, proof of the bones and skulls that once decorated the earth.

Nothing can be hidden from the sun

It all comes to light one day and goes back to it another day too.

Dues shall be paid by the perpetrators of doom, no matter how long it takes.

From the lips of the haters, the survivors are the dregs of the discarded land

But as everything has its time and phase, the puppeteer deities will one's be driven by the tendrils of light that still linger behind the dungeon walls.

The tombs will one day recede into their catacombs, and the dregs will possess the city as a promised people. But only for a millennium. Only for the curse to be upon us a generation after that.

It is a constant fight. One In which death and life battles for the millionth time immemorial.

- Eternal flight by Yefon Isabelle

It loomed in the moors, enshrouded by creeping evil vines emanating a gruesome odour. Built of ancient darkened rocks hewed from the lost realms of the forgotten people of Urth. A creeping darkness, stories recounted, resided there. The voices of those it swallowed, whispering in each passing wind extending its tendrils to grasp whoever fell for its charm and mysteries. No one dared to venture around it at night. Even in daylight, they took different paths avoiding the cursed environs like a deadly plague. 

   What was the story of this well? only Anon, could say for sure for his, was the only encounter known to man, of the horror that nested within the walls of the endless pit.Anon sat in his front yard, a worn out cottage in the remote village, polishing his brown boots. He donned worn out clothing and a haggard beard hung from his chin.

He was considered a pauper. He never got married and was regarded as the village failure and jest. He was a writer. He authored quite a few failed books that no one ever read. Anon, had zeal and enthusiasm. Still, all he wanted was an idea that no one had. A humongous idea that will get him the respect and status he so much longed and deserved. Maybe, the world will no longer view him in contempt and spit when he passed by the marketplace. He needed the story of his life.Anon, had heard stories of a strange well in the gloomy moors, from a mage, he had encountered in one of his fruitless voyages in search of inspiration.

  The old mage had told of the gifts and wishes granted at the wells beckon. The mage, further recounted, informing Anon, all he needed to do was toss one large gold coin, a log of hair from the back of his head, the fingernail from his right index finger, and the fingernail from his left wee toe, and a pint of wine to appease summoned spirit. The dweller of the well, the secret whisperer and giver of knowledge and wisdom, was how he named it. No one knew how or why it came to be, or what its name was. Surely, this was hypnotic and enchanting to his desperation. The only chance for success he had, was to get to where the spirit rested, and for it, to whisper the next big idea to his longing ears. it was either that or imminent suicide.

  To the wilderness, he rode on a grey horse as it galloped on the stony, narrow path, heading moor-ward. It was a three-day journey but was worth it. He prepared for it with bread, cheese, cured meat, poached eggs, and a water-skin to keep him hydrated.

Anon, arrived the moors exhausted, a few hours before dark and made camp there while awaiting midnight where he would incant and present his weird demands.

He calculated the timing extremely well. It was indeed a full moon. 

   At midnight, when the bright moonlight streamed into the deepest recesses of the well, he commenced.

"Oh spirits of wisdom," He stated

"humble Anon of Ilar beckons on the goodwill of the charitable river of the all knowing to stream to my senses, the all true source of writing, so, I can write the biggest book ever written. One that for eternity, will never be forgotten. A book so knowledgeable, it would grace the esteemed libraries of the wealthy elites and tug under the arms of youthful scholars." He wished, tossing the coin, hair  and nails into the bottomless well.

"Heed my wish and grant it now." He completed, poring the pint of red wine and taking a deep breath.

  Thick darkened smoke rose from within the pitch dark well, morphing into a figure, hooded and rickety. As the creature came to full view, Anon could see the bared fangs and extended cranky talons, as the figure swept towards him in the blink of an eye, as if he walked from the air itself.

Stumbling and rummaging for his sword, his efforts fell into futility. He was already in the creatures grasp like a fly caught in a spiders web with no hope of escape. His strained face dripped with sweat. He quivered in the clutches of a bizarre creature.

  The hood fell off the creature, and its features came to full disclosure. 

Anon screamed in fright, shutting his eyes and struggling to get away from the imminent nightmare.He was in shock of the hellish flames he had gazed at. Then, the creature gaped its mouth gaping the elongated teeth and growling a sound that tore into Anon's soul like a thousand talons had ripped his flesh. Anon's head fell limp as he collapsed in the creatures arms. #horror #fantasy #halloween

#halloween

#halloween

Her sides are quickly melting

She is losing her figure

She has become beyond recognition

A Shadow of her former self

A hollow emptiness now resides in her bosom. 

Her green luscious hair of leaves, trees, and sweet vegetation withered into mere sheaves of straw for cattle to feed on.

The air, Oh ! that life giving oxygen now laced with toxicity and deadly radiation.

Mother nature wails in pain

Longing for the joy that existed from long ago

Just nothing more than a distant memory almost lost, and forgotten.

It's been told that the mouth that was fed bit the finger that fed it.

The earth weeps in turmoil

Water overflows its bounds

Carrying and wrecking havoc in its path. 

Our very home has become a jungle a berserk alien wilderness.

Earth moulded to be our abode

A shield and safe place

Now, a distant hazardous, perilous island.

Many now seek a way out of the chaotic world

Looking to the stars for a new start.

Maybe another home up in the clouds.

Mother nature weeps in pain

Her own very creation fed on her

Malevolently wrecked her core and left her for dead alone and forsaken in her demise.

O! Ye creation with no conscience

Race of cruelty

Offspring of malignant descent

The greed that permeates even the innocent and unborn.

Sporing seeds of egoistic instigation in every mind.

Soils have become barren

The oceans sedated with poison and venom scourged with the stink of death

Sea life lies afloat away from it's realm

Why stir them in their humble abode?

This earth was meant not for mankind only

Mankind is intent of self destructing itself

It has shielded it's auditory senses from the cries of Gaia

She weeps in pain

It's never too late

she musters

To make the earth a home once more.

Krystoff !

Cruel product of mischief

Premiere author of pain

Infernal son of perdition in love's mystery lost

Bound by its chains

Proclaims me, Sora, "heart of his"

Anodyne to his achened soul

Where is it known pray tell,

That devil and Angel in love be twined?

His eyes speaks emotions in volumes

Yet deadly weapons he wields

Forged in deadliest dungeons where cruel beastly products grunt as iron is struck.

Rumours of dragon's breath lingers

That Krystoff indeed Mêlée's from atop the beast

Grunting in countless battles

Rumor said he fought 209

Yet why then does he melt with my touch?

Weakened by the vibration of my beating heart?

Which are you Krystoff ?

Cruel warrior and conqueror of worlds?

Or hero who seeks to conquer only this fragile heart of mine?

"Turn not away from my sight Oh Sora. Sweet Sweet Sora. Sunshine of my darkest soul. For indeed I affirm truly to be the devils nephew redeemed and saved by beholding thee.

Only through you can I be saved."

Sadly so, his words strike a dire chord melodies dancing in the dark like golden strings.

I intertwine my fingers with his callous own.

Save the world by loving Krystoff

A sacrifice I am willing to make.

Love not Krystoff and he takes his anger to bounds unknown as cities and kingdoms go down in smoke.

Destinies bridges are laid as we honeymoon away in igloos sipping hot chocolate.

Alas! The world is safe.

Me and my Krystoff in love's keep. 

Nothing can stop a prurient mind

For in the middle of the night,

Knowledge calls

It yells out and yields to be explored 

And nothing astounds a seeker of truth and erudition

Like a golden key dangling in the velvet

deepest and darkest of hours

Clinging to be held.

    FESTIVAL OF WATER

                    By

          LULU DALIAH

Giant rain drops hit the cracked,

Red earth with majestic vibration.

The dust rises from the rain’s touch.

It’s addictive scent engulfing our senses with a sweet aroma.

The dry slowly is washed away,

the dust slowly drowned by the wet.

The mixture of the two elements leave a chocolate color,

making our intestines grumble with need for a treat.

We run around the compound as the rain coldly drizzles on our bodies.

we welcome this season.

The pangs from the sun inflicted by dry,

harsh season which had left our farmlands withered and the crops unproductive.

And the whirl of dust that had choked our noses as vehicles sped by,

was a thing of the past.

Bit by bit, the grass is getting greener.

Nature becomes more illuminated like fireflies dancing in the dark.

Mother and aunt take the maze and bury it in the field and in no time,

we see the seedlings shoot.

The pears are ripe and so are the tomatoes.

Vegetables and tubers in great abundance.

Telling stories over roasted peanuts have never been this fun,

as we warm our hands over the bright and charcoal in the kitchen.

We sing folktales and stories of long ago.

It is time to make merry, it is time for family.

The rain comes to renew and quench what the heat has wrought.

And we look to the heavens lifting our hands,

Appreciating the universe for bestowing us with the gift of water.

Sereewa and Aganer have come to visit me.

We skip across the lawn hunting crickets.

The heavens suddenly grumble.

Lightening slashes across the skies as they quickly turn dark.

This is the best part about rain. We don’t shun it.

We embrace it with our arms wide open,

baring our teeth in laughter as it trickles on our heads and down to our spine.

Then the serious showers commence as we sing ,

dance and bathe around,

Skipping and pleading on the rains not to stop.

Begging on it to let us play just a little more.

The heavens do hear our pleas and send more than rain and other surprises.

Hail falls in bounty.

We hear it falling on the rooftops like tiny pebbles.

We pick them from the earth and place it on our tongues savoring as it melts delightfully.

We pick more, competing on who picked the most.

We never get satiated.

This is only the start of our adventures as the festival of water is begun.

We celebrate with utmost intensity.

A  part of me says forget

The other says never

The damage already is done

My love you'll have forever

A part of me is here with me

The rest I have given you

My heart, my body, my soul

My last breath, take that too.

Beaten up by the suns harsh rays,

My throat thirsts,

It is choked with sand.

In midst of sunny deserts,

Starved and staggering with a hoarse breath,

Like an old haggard beggar with nothing to own.

Stung by deadly snakes and scorpions

Shoes and clothes ragged from the years and years of wandering.

Struggling in this barren land.

Life is hell indeed.

Searching for a green land, Hunting for water,

Looking for an oasis, as a camel in great thirst.

Not even a cactus to wet my tongue and lubricate my cracked lips.

My eyes are swollen with dark circles. 

I have shed hot salty tears

From the day I was born.

I reminisce of troubles  of long ago,

And wish on death to pay me a visit.

If the wraith won't  suction by breath away,

At least  let me suffer a memory loss.

May my brain go catatonic,

So i can forget all these torments,

To come to oblivion of every pain and  tear.

Lo! I find a tree.

My legs are wobbly from the trek.

I am ready to lean as I exhale in ecstasy,

To hold on to the welcoming  embrace of this price of life.

I put my cheek on the trunk and my arms encircling  in an embrace.

But before I heave all my weight onto it,

Down it goes. 

It had fallen down and together,  I with it,  lay desolate on the hot sand.

Oh!  There goes a deadly scorpion.

Alas it pricks my finger so. 

I sigh. 

"Death. I had yelled in the wilderness and you answered. 

Now,  I meet my maker for I am weary of it all."