ethereal.otherworldly

United States of America

soft n sapphic

dreaming of goddesses, sunflowers and italian sunshine.

Message from Writer

every poem is a different style, leave me and my everchanging existence alone

a chapel in paris

April 22, 2018

FREE WRITING

5
it's almost as if you can hear the whispers
or see them out of the corner of your eye
but they don't like to be watched
and when you look they turn to dust

you sit down on a fallen pillar to rest
and wonder how old it is
- 1000 years?
the voice chuckles softly-
child, this pillar was my lifeblood

you reach to you touch the stained glass
and the voice murmurs the name of the man
who's blood was used for the red
but when you turn around
you catch only a glimpse
of rotting eyes-
and empty sockets

when you are finally stepping out into the bright sunlight
you hear faint chanting and laughter from the empty chapel behind you
and cannot move at the hot smell
of ancient breath on your neck 
we shall meet again, child
the lost souls always return 



 
inspired by a (slightly) paranormal experience i had in an ancient chapel in paris + a roman bathhouse in arles 

Print

See History
  • April 22, 2018 - 11:11am (Now Viewing)

Login or Signup to provide a comment.