»
Archives
»
Dark Poetry #3
»
The Coming of Rain
| Dark Poetry #3 |
|
The Coming of Rain |
|
|
lonewolf1 New Member
since 2002-10-16
Posts 9 |
The Coming of Rain The streets are bare. Darkness is near. A man walks alone. He shows no fear. He walks in silence, eyes on the ground. An utter unhappiness, he must have found. It now is dark, it starts to rain. The man looks up, his eyes show pain. He seeks shelter, but no one provides. For in his pockets nothing resides. An old tattered inn, the dark man draws near, but of his intentions? They are unclear. The old door opens. The dark man enters, and on his shadowed form, all attention centers. “I have no money, but I will tell a tale. If it will keep my weathered head out of the gale.” The innkeeper nods and shows some trust. For some odd reason he feels he must. In a dark corner the man takes a seat. Away from the fires comforting heat. He carries their attention. He wears it like a coat, yet he still looks half dead, his head barely afloat. His eyes are dark, filled with sadness. a flash of pain, and then to madness. He begins to speak, yet his mouth is still. down every ones spine, this sends a chill. “There once was a man, long, long, ago. But of his origins we never will know. He walked in darkness, and darkness was his fate, but through great toil, he found a mate. She loved him eternal, not knowing his pain. In her he found light. This was to his gain. But alas, his curse came calling. On one stormy night, she awoke with a scream, and sat up in fright. She looked for her love in the full moon’s pale light. An unholy specter in the darkness of night. She ran through the woods calling his name, but on her we can not place the blame.” “Blame for what? “ A young man said aloud. Stopping the story, and disrupting the crowd. The wanderer arose, at the window he stood. He hide his pain the best that he could. He gazed at the moon and its pale yellow light. Disrupting the darkness in the perfect of night. Their attention still held, he continued his tale. Standing by the window. Open to the gale. "She searched on through thorn and wood. Finding his naked form as he knew she would." “Get away from me,” he cried. His head then fell, and she thought he died. She stood there in shock and fright. Gazing at his cold body in the moonlit night. He then began to move, slowly at first. Then he clutched at his throat as if dying of thirst. Then heard was a moan and a cry out in pain. It started out soft, like the coming of rain. It then grew to a thunder. deafening to hear, and all who heard have never felt such fear. He lay there screaming and clawing the ground. His voice was changing to the sound of a hound. His body was taking the form of a beast, and once there his screaming had ceased. His love looked on him in fear. For of the devil he did appear. She screamed and ran into the night, but oh, how useless was her flight. The beast arose, no longer man. Because of the curse, this was its plan. Its thirst awakened, it longed for blood, as its bestial feet padded through the mud. The man awoke, blood all around, The love of his life, he had found. He cried out in pain and sorrow. He did not want to live to see tomorrow. Alas, the curse, he cannot die. Forever this pain will lead him to cry. Of his love? She’s not the first, nor the last to quench his blood lusting thirst. Some say he’s Cain and this is his fate. For his actions and his murderous hate. This terrible beast is still alive, and his horrible thirst? That is his drive. He still walks the land. Quenching his thirst, and gaining their trust. Of this he is cursed. They say if you see him your life soon shall end. For this terrible curse shall never bend. On he walks in pain and sorrow. Because he knows he will see tomorrow.” All fell silent. No one stirred. All looked at the ground. No breath could be heard. Then all at once, they looked up in fright. The wanderer had gone into the night. They looked out the window, and saw the yellow light of a full moon in the darkness of night. Then heard was a moan and a cry out in pain. It started out soft like the coming of rain. |
||
| © Copyright 2002 lonewolf1 - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
WhileIWasGone Member
since 2002-07-18
Posts 486 |
Cool poem...enjoyed. DeaDiAmore |
||
|
Succubus Member
since 2002-09-30
Posts 82Canada, Ontario |
I loved this poem... werewolves have always scared the hell out of me... I was very younge when I saw Stephen King's Silver Bullet and it stayed with me for a long time. Ginger Snaps and An American WereWolf in Paris also made me Scared ****less. There aren't too many things out there that will bring Fear upon me; your poem did. Thanx, for I love being scared. Great Piece. Kisses, Succubus Some say it's better to have 10% of something than a 100% of nothing... |
||
|
PoeticGoddessOfDepression Member
since 2002-07-02
Posts 439I am everywhere |
Whoa ... this is kinda freaky. I'm sleeping with my light on tonight...  really good poem, though. Long, but it needed to be.. I love the... God, I just love the structure.. the whole thing. I'm almost speechless. (As you can see, I'm not making much sense) This belongs in my library. "Sometimes, somethings turn into dumb things, and that's when you put your foot down." |
||
|
D edgar Grey Member
since 2002-08-21
Posts 174Hell...(aka Wisconsin) |
I am engulfed with envy...I've never been able to write a poem that was either so long or so--what's the word I'm looking for??--kick*** as this one...incredible... "Am assured,receptive,responsive women of substance. My sense of self comes not from other people but from myself? That can't be right." Bridget Jones |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
