We are the Choices We Make

We are the Choices We Make

The image is a composite of a foggy late evening in the woods and Black-eyed Susan’s and Queen Anne’s Lace…the cold and dark and warm and light…it’s always your choice!

Copyright © 2009 D L Ennis, All rights reserved.

NOTE: Permission for the use of my images is granted for personal websites and blogs (THAT MEANS NO ADS AND NO SELLING OF ANY KIND) but is to include a link back to this site and proper credit given to me, D L Ennis. Link to be used…(Visual Thoughts https://dlennis.wordpress.com/)

NOTE: Commercial use, and the creation of prints, must be purchased! For more information you can contact me here.

The Haunting in You

You can’t run from the haunting in you!

Your deed was dirty and evil in kind
Now you’re running for your life you’re loosing your mind
In the midnight forest in the mountains deep
Imagination wide open and your mind can’t sleep
What’s that sound to the left?
What’s that sound to the right?
What’s that sound that that you hear that goes bump in the night?
You set down to rest, your back to a large tree
But fear overcomes you, your mind’s on a spree
Of death and of terror…
And of things that approach you unnaturally
You feel your chest growing tight to your back
As the ground below you opens a crack
A hand reaches up from the cold dampen earth
And you beg to bargain, but what your life worth?
You scream as you promise to change your ways
If God will save you; give you back your lost days
Daylight comes and you’re back on the run
Will you run to the light?
Will you’re promise be done?
As you run you remember the dark will return
Betray your promise and tonight you may burn

You awaken from your nightmare but the damage is done
Do you turn yourself in?
Or do you really run?
You can’t run from yourself and you are what you do
The place where you live is the haunting in you

Copyright © 2009 D L Ennis

Days Like This

I hate the days
when I exist only in the dark and icy recesses of my mind
When the sun shines bright outside
and misery dwells within
when hope evades me
and the future looks to a dead-end
when awareness frightens my being back to sleep
where a dark corner is my only friend
and the thought of encountering another person
is more terrifying than the end of existence
It’s almost too much to bear…days like this

D L Ennis © 2008

Hairy Old Buzzards

Years ago I played music for a living, from folk to jazz, sometimes I still get in the mood to write a song and when I do I jot down the words. I don’t have a guitar these days or I would record this for you to hear, but since you can’t hear it just think of the style of folk singer/songwriter John Prine and you’ll be close. Sing along! 🙂

I’m just a hairy old buzzard don’t have much good sense
I just sit around all day like a crow on a fence
Squawking and eating and making weird sounds
Just please don’t you mess with my hounds

Now when I was quite young I was hairy then too
But I smelled a sight better but with age that smell grew
There was a time when the women all made over me
Let’s see, oh yeah, when I was bout three

Yeah, hairy old buzzards they need their friends too
Don’t you sit down below us from where the wind blew
If your eyes start to water you’re in the wrong place
Our odor could damage your face
To run would be your saving grace

Now as the days pass me by my mind gives a try
To remember what I’m doing here
But it’s useless to think cause my minds on the blink
Oops, I’d better change my underwear

I’m just a hairy old buzzard don’t have much good sense
I just sit around all day like a crow on a fence
Squawking and eating and making weird sounds
Just please don’t you mess with my hounds


If this one brings a tear to your eye…just go to your happy place! 🙂

Too Many Deaths to Live

By the time of day, I know,
the sun must be shining bright,
but to me it is darker than any night.
I can’t seem to find a way to pull myself out,
I’m lost in a world of demons, and devils,
of all consuming self-doubt,
and pity for myself, pathetic I know,
it can’t be helped.
There is no control over the thoughts that invade my mind;
the never-ending rush of demons that fill my consciousness tortures me.
Demons of my own creation; demons that now…control my every thought.
The very same mischievous sprites that were slowly…
and now more hastily, draining life from my pathetic body.

Still, a slow torture no matter how quickly they work.
Now, I can only hope the end is near,
the pain is unbearable, and the wait…is the life of one painful death after another.
Asking for help is a thing that is ever fleeting,
almost a thing; a thought that never excised.
Hell on earth is now a truth, having been debated throughout my existence.
There is no heaven; unless death itself is heaven: I can only hope.
I now, instead of asking for help from human kind and gods…that do not exist.

I am begging for death…

A single death…

A permanent death to hurry my way…

Copyright © 2001, D L Ennis