Monday, November 1, 2010


Too long spent treading water,
head bobbing up and down
between passing ships
and an array of distorted
messages in bottles

It was here that I realised the time to let go
and sink down into the depths of you
had arrived

But fear,
night terrors,
a gang of them,
their voices calling out like whale song
beneath the surface

Try as I might I cannot shake the feeling
that this shade is not a ghost at all
Rather a permanent stain,
the spreading of ink
across an otherwise pale blue

And it always arrives with the taste of decay
that dull screw
of a fragile hobgoblin
so pensive and grave


Ande said...

This is very good.

Jeremy Blomberg said...

interesting poem...gave me a sad, drowning feeling.

Peter Greene said...

I kind of liked the drowning images....always had a vast terror of deep water with big ships too close. At the end of the poem was the 'dull screw' that always ends these horror-fantasies...chop, chop. Thanks for the poem, Scrybe.

My Walkabout said...

new follower, and this is one of my favourites so far....

Francis Scudellari said...

I love the image of the ink spreading across the canvas. The feeling conveyed is so much more tactile than any ghost.

The Scrybe said...

Thanks for the all the comments :D

tom said...

Great writing, I have enjoyed reading through your blog.