Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
My Dearest; Darkest Devotion,

Ah, but what a long time it's been!

And now, it is with a slender paled sliver of hope this letter finds you before I arrive at your chamber, for I must solicit your heart with the contents of mine.

This night I ponder upward to the twinklings amid the void and my thoughts do turn to that time we first met, before I knew you, and how you let me know you, and eventually I let you know...me.

Having learned the truth of my true vampyric nature, your reaction was not as open a reception as I would have it. I concede I have not been the same sense you drove that plank through my chest and deep into my very still heart. There stayed I until, alas...

A hapless young wanderer, a splendid morsel of a group of people on a retreat from the town, rummaging through nature to find kindling for a bonfire, took grasp of the parcel of wood that protruded from the shallow earth where I was left forsaken, and in his misfortune did un-stake me.

I assure you, at this very moment, I feel quite quenched of my thirst.
My hunger for the sweetmeats of revenge have yet to be satiated, however, I will see you very soon, My Pitch Blackness. And you. too, shall see me.

Eternally yours,

Vladimir Tepes.

P.S. Happy Halloween.
Up the steep steps
as you reach the age old fort,
you breathless behold
the green valley down below
and that magnificent mound of rock
by the name Robinson Hill.

In the sweet silence of birds' chirping,
the winds reek of rifles and gun smoke
and you hear not the rustling leaves
but bullets echoing all over the valley
one more down, another down
as they held the fort till fell breathless
passing into tombs and memorials
you read to pause for a breath
up above the green valley
where the grasses grew over the blood.
Duar War (1865) declared by the British on the Bhutanese.
Inadequately armed and outnumbered, the Bhutanese fought gallantly at the Buxa Fort, Duars before falling to the might of a superior army.
A visit to the Buxa Fort in April, 2016 inspired this write.
It's noon in a postcard town
Pedestrians gather on tidy city squares
All I can do is stare
I've nothing to offer save for a song
A tough performance before a bitter throng
Most people need nothing but a beat
Like this monotonous street
Where heartless people haphazardly meet
Walking head down , focused on their feet
They've no time for meaningful lyrics
It's a sad time for music among these urban cynics* ..
Copyright October 28 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
The fiery wind burns our skin
this simmering summer noon
but our resolve is not paper thin.

the river is all ours
I tell her
and she whispers love notes.

When we retreat under the banyan
she scans the grey for clouds
and I her eyes for a mystic hint.

how lovely it would be
if it rains now

she says.

it would
I swear by the river.

We walk away
dreaming good crop
swaying in the river wind.
I titter at the thought of biological death -
for I have died emotionally many times* ..
Copyright October 10 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
My jasmine is in my arms wearing her white shirt
She is pure and chaste like ****** with white robe
My love is in trance my soul is just in real concert
My sweetheart just allow me to explore and probe

My sweetheart I can not survive with out just you
My love is enthralled in the company of your beauty
We have to go hand in hand just through and through
Let us be together on love and beauty to take to agree

My white beautiful flower I cherish and celebrate
Each moment in your company to be in companion
Let me be frank to declare you wonderful and great
Let me tell you frankly to each we meant to destine

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Next page