Poem: Bones

Ivory white and yellowed or old

The bones in the cellar,

dripping with mold


Softened by rot and cankerous


the bones in the cellar,

drenched in mold


Slime like paint

green and false gold

the bones in the cellar,

sinful with mold


Blood dried ’round

these walls so bold

The bones in the cellar

are awash

with mold


The stench in the air sinks down in the cold

the bones in the cellar are old with mold;

To take in a breath will drain your soul

but the bones in the cellar draw you in to their fold

Stay in the dark with gold unsold

Shining in the light catching lies untold

from the dark where the bones lie

in blood and mold

in greed so bold they were stolen away

like the gold now caught in white hand’s sway

it curls its fingers ’round blind man’s riches

in the dark with its bones and fel green stitches

of cloth that wrap near the base of the cold

and the white

and the whole of the light

shining down to the


and the softness

of the silence

in the cellar

where the bones lie




©2013 Sam Oliver (Eris)


Poems, poems, poems.

I’ve got more. I’m not sure what inspired this one, but I like its rhythm.



Poem: These Long Winter Halls

The long winter halls

These long winter halls

Have faded in time

Have faded in rhyme

and reason untold

unbound by the shape

of the skeleton who sits

at the throne

by the foot

of the tall statue’s gold.


And the tall statue bold,

who stands above all

and stares sternly down at the skeleton thrall

once a king but not now

not a king anymore

his key unlocks nothing

but a small silver door

at the foot of the throne

between cold gold knees

as the skeleton’s jaws now


in the breeze

that rolls through the halls

these cold mountain halls

these cold winter halls

these long winter halls

where the skeleton sits

on his throne, and in thrall

a king of nothing, no

of nothing

at all

but a pause and a shift and a creak in his jaw

from the wind

that blows

through this long





©2013 Sam Oliver (Eris)


Here you go guys. Got another poem. Working on like five stories. Prolly’ll post one or two of them. When, you ask?? When they’re done!