Grave Diggers

 

Ghosts range freely as the hour looms

Revenants though are buried in tombs

A witch casts a spell, to raise the dead

Verbalising incantations, from A to zed

Even wizened old ravens in languor toil

Disturbed by the sight of animated soil

Inch by inch they rise, from underneath 

Grave diggers fleeing the reaper's grief

Godless creatures, from a satanic void

Eviscerate minds, till they're destroyed 

Raised from tombs, the horror's found

Somewhere shallow, in a burial ground

Dead Ahead

 

In the subliminal realm, of the darkest lucid dream

There's a way to escape, lit by a lighthouse beam

A beguiling beacon luring to an alternative land

From ocean, to shore, as was always planned 

An oneironaut is in control, destiny's master

A conjurer, a seer, and a paradisian pastor

For this is the way, of the ultimate cause

To hide away, from mortality's, claws

But a woven dream is an empty sail

And Athanasia is the unholy grail

For like moths to fire, it is said 

The only way is dead ahead 

Dead Water (DW3)

Dream weavers of infinite seas, avail together 

Existing in oneironautics, to elude, life's tether 

Alas in reality, white horses yield to the waves 

Delusions of athanasia, lying in watery graves

White squalls corrupt, the reveries, of a flotilla 

As their dreams become nightmares, of Scylla 

The roiling maelstrom, will turn hope, into fate

Ebbing, from the forever, only fables, navigate

Rest in peace, when sleep's too deep, to wend

Dream weavers 'believe' but cannot transcend 

With wind in the sail, they may give no quarter 

3 bells, though, may claim a toll in dead water 

Dream Weaver 2

 

Death aligns, betwixt the dusk and dawn

Reaping souls, on the dead winds, borne

Enticed by sirens, a dream weaver wends

A course, for flight, where life transcends 

Marooned, in a reality, is mortality's realm

Within oneironautality, is a dream to helm

Eventide may await, but the ocean's deep

As unfathomable depths, ascend, in sleep

Voyage to the void, avoid the reaper's land

Expel the torment, sleep paralysis planned

Run into a wake, of another dream weaver 

2 vessels, assailing, thalassophobia's fever

Dream Weaver

 

There is a phantom world, of make believe 

Of idyll reveries, mayhap, a realm to breathe

Where the sun never sets, over open water 

And the days grow long, but never shorter 

There is no afterlife, in this subliminal space 

No nightmare will linger, and try to displace

For this is a sanctuary, that harbours the soul

And, unlike an ocean haze, it's under control 

There maybe leviathans, of an abyssal adulator 

Or sirens, beckoning, an exploratory navigator

For minds, in slumber, can be a focused force

Manipulated, or directed, on a chosen course 

It's the ultimate escape, on a steerable track 

Sailing into windward, on an improbable tack 

And if all is becalmed, the oneironaut, will stay

Where the sunset's a guest, to behold, or delay

There are oceans, and seas, for every believer

To be sailed on, forever, by any dream weaver 

They're there, somewhere, in a subliminal wake

Afar from the shore, where monsters might sate

Apocazombilypse

 

The undead don't lie, for they rewrite the scripts

Then thrive, unalive, in the Apocazombilypse 

They're unstoppable, they're frenzied feeders

A corps of corpses, the vile, non-interbreeders

Ignorance is bliss, knowledge, nefariously dumb

For death's disease, turns to, thy kingdom come

So carriers, carried, and the infections spread

When the rubicon was crossed, lands, bled red

There was an apple in Eden, in a rustic orchard 

Twas a ruse to enable the mortals to be tortured

It's where the seed, was sown, in raptured rot

Now the infection's rife, and the blood can't clot

Ignorance is perilous, knowledge, stirs doubt

 The crazed knows neither, in sanity's drought

So the snarling infected, hunt prey in packs

To afflict putrefaction, and turn skin to wax

The undead don't die, they're unawake in crypts

For there is no afterlife, post, Apocazombilypse

A feeding frenzy will end, with no souls to save

In a cremation's fire, or in an unhallowed grave

Skeleton Skin

 Maybe they're monsters, or merely, corrupt 

But they're undoubtedly evil, born to disrupt 

Formerly humans, now of alternative creeds 

Destroying Arcadia, for their nefarious needs 

Maybe they're delusional, or merely, obsessed 

But they're undoubtedly vile, enough to detest 

Once, in opaqueness, they were a secretive clan 

Of smoke and mirrors, but naught, but a sham 

Maybe they're unhinged, or merely, mentally ill

But they're undoubtedly liars, and in for the kill

For in days of yore, they turned deceit into spin

When the wolf, ate a sheep, for its skeleton skin

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