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Leslie P Garcia

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Member Since: Aug, 2001

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Coming Up Midnight. . .
by Leslie P Garcia

Sunday, October 27, 2002

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           >> View all 38

The rising wind bewails the night;

                             The air hangs in shrouds

                             That further blacken

                             Whatever hope or light there was.

                             From the realms of dark

                             And twisted worlds,

                             The hell-charred souls take flight

                             Across a tortured sky.


                             Almost obscured by the darkness

                             A figure walks alone,

                             Head bent,


                             Of all the ghastly things about.


                             The wind becomes a groan, and then

                             A shriek--

                             Shadows deepen, as if the blackness

                             Were not already an all-consuming beast.

                             And just before the figure goes

                             Forever into darkness,

                             An eerie sound, a sob

                             Not torn from human host--

                             Or was it just

                             The undead's

                             Mindless laugh?

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Reviewed by Sophia Barkat (Reader) 12/30/2003
You should write theatrical plays. The imagery is sensational.
Reviewed by Calendula Petal (Reader) 10/28/2002
oooo......lets hope the street lights are on when I go home tonight as I shant be able to stop thinking of this.
Reviewed by Cathy Montgomery (Reader) 10/28/2002
Just in time for All Hallow's Eve...
Strong imagery, mood...
Reviewed by Lady Peg (Reader) 10/27/2002
The imagery is excellent in this piece....
Reviewed by Lady Peg (Reader) 10/27/2002
Great atmosphere! Great imagery write!

Sandie May / Sandie Angel :o)
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