Past whispering fields of corn and wheat,
And sleeping haystacks piled so neat,
Silent footfalls by padded feet,
Measured breaths in time with heart beats,
Dressed in death as the creep,
The shadows hug the mist and sneak,
In the cold night air around the keep,
Inside where soldiers drink and eat,
Guards see nothing in fog so deep,
While outside dark angels climb up the steep,
Grey castle walls to find the meek,
Lord inside on his kingly seat,
Counting the money he took from the weak,
But now’s the time for him to reap,
The future he’s sown for himself, as bleak,
As the tomb inside the dungeon’s deep,
Through his open window they slowly seep,
Tis his purple blood they keenly seek,
With a bright flash of steel, his crimson heat,
Turns white robes red, his life doth leak,
His black cloaked killers, unseen, downward leap,
Into an empty and silent street,
Thus ends a lord for whom no one will weep.
About the Creator
Stel Tsolakides
My thoughts sometime get away from me, what I write is the result of that runaway brainI like to try different styles and experiment with formats, sometimes it works, sometimes...not so much.
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Chikan
She stands there in front of me,Like a ray of light,Trapped in this drab grey prison,I move in close,Close enough to touch her,She’s so close I can smell her,My hand grazes the back of her skirt,She doesn’t react, doesn’t look,She doesn’t move away,No one else is looking,They’re all morning zombies,Stuck in stasis on the train of their lives,My fingers tease along her hemline,Slowly lifting up her skirt,Revealing the pale flesh beneath,My nails trace lines across her skin,I hear a quick intake of breath,She reaches round to stop me,Her hand fumbles for my wrist,I hold it still with ease,I pull it toward my groin,She starts to struggle,My smile only widens,Still no one sees a thing,With her hand firmly held, rubbing me,My free fingers travel up beneath her blouse,Tracing up along the lace outline of her bra,She puts up a fight,She puts on a show,She doesn’t cry out, not once,Her wriggling only exposes the white meat,Her nipples are hard, her breathing quick,She knows she’s mine,She wants this, even more than I do,I taste her neck and press into her,So hard now I need to stab at her from behind,I quiver with anticipation,Just a little longer now,Only this cotton covers her mound,Practically offering her to me,My fingers feel her every line,She’s wet,Her true colours revealed,The whore shows herself,I push the cotton aside,I release myself and take what’s mine,Not a single eye turns our way,Either through ignorance or choice,Everyone is blind,She moans a little man,That hint of joy escapes her,The telltale sign of excitement,It doesn’t take me long,We’re both done in minutes,The train stops and the doors open,I put myself away and leave,Neither of us turn around,She takes a few seconds to clean herself up,She always does,I know she’s grinning to herself,She enjoys it more than me,I have a kinky wife.
By Stel Tsolakides6 years ago in Poets
Midnight
60 seconds… 59 seconds… Time was slipping through his fingers, though he clawed at the falling grains of sand, he could not stop the hourglass from flowing. Around him, the silence was deafening. He had taken over every screen in the command centre, putting the terrible seconds before the terrified eyes of his friends and comrades.
By Alexander McEvoy5 days ago in Fiction
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