Gone ~ A Poem

My name resounds in the empty room,

The sound, an echo on blank walls,

They call for me, they call to me—

Searching down these empty halls;

The bed waits cold in the empty room,

Where only darkness laid that night,

Eyes scanned the star-speckled skies—

But failed to spot one dying light;

Shadows pace in the empty room,

Waiting, hoping, for my return,

This life passes like a forest fire—

No one notices the last leaf burn;

Darkness retreats at the light of dawn.
They search for me—

 But I’m already gone. 
June 8, 2017

A. C. Mortale

If “I love you” falls from his lips (A Poem)

If “I love you” falls from his lips

Like stray sparks from a dying flame

And his eyes reflect like empty glass

His whisper, an echo of your name—

Step back, my dear. Step back.

Even the brightest, most passionate fire

Crumbles the world to ash and dust

These embers are quick to light and blaze 

Desire is not love, and neither is lust.


A.C. Mortale

Delicate Strings ~ a poem

Your expert hands pull delicate strings,

A puppeteer whose puppets are blind,

The poison that drips from your tongue

Is a sweet addiction to the gullible mind;

 

Clever lies and words skillfully phrased,

A wicked gleam behind innocent eyes,

Manipulating any and all in your way

Relentlessly until you attain your prize;

 

Seemingly irresistible, a tempting tune,

Your melodious promise of paradise,

To which your victims endlessly dance

Mere pawns to serve as your sacrifice;

 

But be careful, should your facade fail,

Near impossible it is to regain lost trust,

Long held admiration is quick to vanish

And just as quickly replaced by disgust.

 

04/30/16  A.C. Mortale

A Gentle Pond ~ a poem

Shadows stretch across the surface-

Of a small, unnoticed pond,

Delicate lilies cling to its face-

Masking that which lies beyond;

Not a ripple dares to shatter-

This plane of tinted glass,

Fixed firmly like a scenic picture-

As many, lonely years pass;

Although rare, there comes a time-

Where eyes sharp and perceptive,

Seek out the waiting, forest pond-

With its depths dark and deceptive;

Timid toe gently breaks the face-

The ripples scattering the illusion,

Of calm contentment that truly is-

Naught but a self-conjured delusion;

Bare skin meets the freezing water-

Hopeful smile turns to worried frown,

The pond is deeper than expected-

All who attempt to delve shall drown;

Beware, step not further my way;

Attempt not to unmask my lies.

I am dangerous under my surface;

This gentle pond is my disguise.

04/18/16 A.C. Mortale