You must login to vote
Frogs sit crying on great lily pads in the middle of the pond
Disturbed only by a moaning wind that rattles out of a moonless night
That wind brings with it promise of much chaos and disturbance to come
Slowly the frogs slip into the glassy surface of the pond, to hide
They leave only mere echoes of their existence, the ripples whisper history
The moonless sky gives a great heave, the death rattle of the peace deafens the pond with its grand thunder
Flowers bend in the gale, praying silent prayers that their folded petals may open to kiss the sun once more, to taste itís light and drink from it deeply
The wind dies a calm death, sudden and quiet, as if poisoned.
The eeriness, it creeps and slithers like a snake, slithers up the spine of every creature who understands the feeling in the air
A howl, then a roar, then a sound beyond words or feeling, Hellís choir raises to a grand crescendo and sustains
And they fall, the choir disbands, leaving the performance to ring in the air, to make it shiver and hum
A frog slips out of the pond on to his lily pad, followed closely by his peers
They bask in the darkness of the absent moon, and reap the stillness.
Nuevo Ishmeal Gallus (CG)