"Slumbers With The Succubus"

Pools of wretched wrinkles;

Uncontrolled winds which –

In their wildness wallow,

In mirroring waters –

which do not mirror.

 

 

The nocturnal dark as night;

Burning desires –

Like bugs flying into ferocious fires.

 

Bright birds boasting their strange songs –

Magnifying magnificent mystery.

 

Nothing but nightly shadows

Showing bowed and bent brambles

And branches.

 

Comely columbines covered –

With crippling growths.

 

Tentacled trees trudging;

Through sepia-skinned silt

– Undoubtedly decaying.

 

Naked as the first man.

 

Slumbers with the succubus

– In paralysed delusions.

 

Long-fingered dead roots;

slowly piercing spotless pale skins –

buried in murky black.


About the author

I enjoy writing as my biggest hobby in life. Since I graduated from a BA in English Literature, I have been busy in my MA programme geared towards editing and writing. I love all things dark, from the Gothic era and before to modern dark writings.

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Manou JoninkPoem, Poetry