Hey! There's poetry behind that woodshed: The Blackest Gift.

By WednesdayAddams - About Me - E-mail this page - Add to My Favorites - Add to Blog List - See other blogs in Poetry

Friday, November 2, 2012

The Blackest Gift.

It is a night of dark desire, a strange, beautiful song of blood. Wolves vent their pain. A full moon, The immortal one awakes. Curling, icy wisps of death shrouds her gaunt form, a brooding wanting. Her silken, raven hair cascades over translucent ivory shoulders, and her full scarlet lips part slightly, to taste the red tears streaming from the pale flesh beneath her. Now a night of new life, I rise. Thursday, November 01, 2012 04:10:24 PM Sign in to see full entry.

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November 2012
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My poetry is out back behind the woodshed. Let's take a little walk.

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