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On this night
This silent night
Dark clouds dim the moon
And cast the land in shadow
On this flight
This tiresome flight
Weariness eats at me
My muscles gone to stone
On this hunt
This deadly hunt
I wonder if I’ll die
And be dragged to depths below
They have come
Have always come
I’m fleeing like a hare
No safe place to call my home
Shaped of shadows
Always peering
Always leering
Always nearing
Wither shall I go?
©Aarron Mondello
28/3/2018
The Shadows on the wall are playing little puppet games
Flickering motion come to life in the candle flame
Twirling, whirling, prancing, dancing all across the wall
Hypnotizing, mesmerising I’m watching on in awe
As cavorting little shapes and giant swaying beasts
Match their shaking movements to an unheard beat
Choreographed, a perfect match to the outside breeze
Tiny little shadow people dance the dance with ease
Swaying heads, shimmy shoulders, undulating hips
A taller one twirls a rod with tassels at its tips
The night grows late to my chagrin all the different shadows
Bow and walk to the edge of the wall it’s time to end the show
I lean to blow the candle out and when no light remains
Back they flee to the shadow realm to play their shadow games
©Aarron Mondello
3/3/2018
In the dark of night when shadows roam
I feel alone
In the quiet sleepiness of my home
Where all the shadows roam
In the midnight hour they wake
Creeping sneaking sounds they make
I pray softly they don’t take
Me, to the shores of their dead lake
Through the darkened halls they come
Putrid evil songs they hum
While I hide and hope someone
Will save me before the night is done
As I cower in my bed
I envision scenes of dread
And all about the Shadows tred
Shadows that live in my own head
©Aarron Mondello
27/2/2018
By Aarron Mondello
30/12/2017
The Traveller with his hat pulled low
Against the scorching sun
Strolling across the desert, slow
A Devil on the run
His heart burns cold like ice
A dead lump in his chest
On his skin the blood of life
Behind him shadows nest
He rides the tail of his black fame
Clear across the land
Wearing a mask of unfelt shame
And a jacket fashioned from the skin of man
The Devil shines bright in his eyes
He long ago sold his soul
Spreading since then malicious lies
While his footsteps salt the soil
Since the day he signed the pact in blood
Evil in his heart has reigned
He swore off from any brotherhood
His joy that day was slain
Now all he dreams is blood
Now all he leaves is death
Now all he worships is his black God
With dark prayers upon his breath
©Aarron Mondello
30/12/2017
Featured image https://w-dog.net/wallpaper/nature-desert-dunes-dune-sun-men-traveller-traveler-wanderer-dreamers/id/248780/
By Aarron Mondello
17/12/2017
“What is a Darkling?”
I hear you ask
Well it’s a little shadow-child
Wearing a little shadow-mask
Flitting running
Through the trees
Blending in
Barely seen
Tittering laughter
Follows behind
These little imp-wraiths
As they hide
From all who come
Near to them
For Darklings everything
Holds fear for them
“Are they evil?”
You enquire
No more evil
Than burning fire
They have a power
In their heart
A power some will
Seek to covert
“So they have magic?”
You seem confused
“They ARE magic”
I say, amused
Their very shifting
Shadow form
The essence from which
Magic is born
They have no use
Of their own
For the power set
Within their bones
A cup of water
Can’t drink itself
As the Darklings
Can cast no spells
“So they are good?”
How to explain
Would you put alignment
To a flame?
Neither nice
Or evil things
They just are
Little Darklings
“Are they real”
Your voice goes soft
Not any more
I scoffed
People hungered
For their power
And hunted them
To their final hour
Now no more
Do they flitter
Through the Shadows
Running thither
Their end was long
Brutal and violent
Their old homes
Now lay ever silent
Beautiful shadows
Always laughing
Their only downfall
Was being Darklings.
©Aarron Mondello2017
Featured image: A Rustle and a Murmur by moppaa
https://www.deviantart.com/art/A-Rustle-and-Murmur-442059115
<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/silent/”>Silent</a>
By Aarron Mondello
13/12/2017
There’s a quiet street in suburbia
Where all the houses look the same
Except this one large empty place
Squatting at the end of a lane
The yard is grown six foot tall
With grass and prickly weeds
The wood is flaking the walls are cracking
Along their every seem
It sits so morbidly peaceful
Empty in the sun
Dirty windows like clouded eyes
Watching everyone
One day I pushed open the squealing gate
And walked down the broken path
Towards the clouded eye-windows
That stared out from the house
I walked around until I found a window
Not too high and slightly clean
Pressed my curious face against the glass
To see what might be seen
Dust motes danced in a bar of sunlight
Like tiny golden fairies
Intricate twirls to and unheard tune
Kaleidoscopic entities
Shifting dancing dapple shadows
Moved along the walls
A constant flux of colourless runes
Penned in shifting scrawls
An old rocking chair leaned like a drunk
In one corner gone all dusty
Faded flowers and vines marched up
The edge of cushions mildew and musty
I could not see the wallpaper print
It was torn and yellowed and stained
With black patches of growing mould
Dotting what remained
The door in the room was shut
So beyond I couldn’t peer
But the feeling I had from the abandoned room
Is not even mice came here
Muffled sound echoed through the house
To where I stood outside the room
Not carried well on still, dead air
Like air within a tomb
I gazed a moment longer
Through the dirty glass
And tried to imagine I saw walking
Reflections of the past
I walked away from the dirty window
My heart was racing fast
The house loomed large behind me
Alive, lonely and vast
I looked back when I reached the gate
And thought it all surreal
That such a large and empty house
Felt altogether unreal
Still today that house stands empty
Down a lane in a cul-de-sac
With its clouded window-eyes stands sentry
Silently guarding our backs.
©Aarron Mondello2017
Featured image is a wallpaper, I couldn’t find an original artist
http://www.wallpapermania.eu/wallpaper/sunlight-through-the-broken-windows-old-house
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