FICTION & POETRY, SHORT STORY, WRITING

Aching Hunger

Words: Eily Nash

Images: Giphy & Pixabay

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OCCULT, WRITING, WRITING & BLOGGING

Dark Heart of Night

Darkness falls.

The witching hour calls.

That which has been constrained by chains of day, is unleashed into the dark heart of night.

Born of a thousand stars and the fires of hell. She is incandescent, infernal Light.

In dreams she comes to you. Invades your thoughts, willingly you invite her into your bed. Excited by a demon lover, your body enflamed by her touch. You succumb to her dark charms.

There is no escape from that which has been made manifest by your own deep, dark desires.

Pray for the light of dawn and breaking of the day, lest the Succubus feeds her voracious hunger, devours your heart and carries your very soul away to be consumed in flames of the endless abyss.

FICTION & POETRY, LOVE, POEM, WRITING

Into The Night

Regular readers will know I love the work of Texan Storyteller, Writer & Poet Randy. For new visitors I am delighted to introduce you to my talented friend and his creativity 😀 ✒️📖 His latest work is lush. A very erotic and sexy piece. Enjoy!

Randy is a vibrant and interactive member of the Twitter community, follow him for more!

WRITING & BLOGGING

Lady of Light, Lady of Night

The Lady beguiles you

Intrigued you draw near

She is a paradox

Of Light and Dark

Kissed by golden sunlight

And the midnight hour

Of black witchcraft

 

★☆★☆★

 

She is both heavenly Angel

And a hellfire Demon

If you wish to know her

Please proceed carefully 

For what you think you see

May just be enchantment

For nothing is as it truly seems

Life a dream within a dream

 

★☆★☆★

 

Dare beckon her at the witching hour

You summoned, now feel her power

No longer in control

Lost to lust and love

Beguiled by Beauty

Bewitched  by Spell craft

★☆★☆★

 

Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay
POEM, POETRY, Uncategorized

The Summoning

 

 

Image by Brigitte Werner from Pixabay

The Lady beckons to you beguilingly. Obsidian eyes, flashing danger and delight. Her smile, enigmatic, promising delicious secrets to be shared. Tresses of sun kissed silken strands of gold, a river flowing down her innocent back. Mixed messages carried on an air of danger. Fascinated, intrigued you draw near.

She is an enigmatic paradox, formed from Light and Dark. Blessed by sunlight’s golden rays and kissed by the midnight hour, black magick and the devil’s claw. Heavenly Angel, hellfire Demon.Was her Soul star born in the fiery firmaments above or forged somewhere north of Midnight?

Her essence envelopes you. She is not physically there, yet she is everywhere. On your skin, in your mind, you feel her Presence. Bringing both delights and torments. You love her. You hate her. Want her and need her, repulsed at meeting the devil within fearing possession you push her away.

Is she a Succubus, or a figment of fragmented wanton lust rampaging through the caverns of your ravaged mind? Or is she a witch, adept at the Dark Arts and  enchantment has placed you under her eternal spell? ✨

 

© Eily Nash~ 2019

POEM, POETRY, Uncategorized, WRITING & BLOGGING

The Precipice

Beautiful image: Pixabay.com

The precipice, a perilous place, far beyond the safe confines of the city walls and the hinterlands of right and wrong.

Inexorably pulled to the edge of decision, Chase stood hypnotised by angry crashing waves, pounding heart beats upon a lonely shore.

Far out to sea, he heard her call. Siren. Temptress. One leap forward into the unknown, falling, tumbling into her dark depths and he would be free to ride upon passion’s tumultuous waves.

Or one step back from the beckoning, beguiling edge of danger…one step back into the barren wastelands of his life.

Eily Nash ~2019

LOVE, POETRY, Relationships

Fire & Ice

She was the fire and ice of diamonds, the red and gold dance of passion’s flame.

Sending him Solar flares, enticing him to unlock her many secrets and damping his ardour with sheet rain when he came too close.

Would he ever find the key that lay hidden somewhere beneath the arctic glaciers guarding her fragile heart?

She was a complicated paradox.

…and he loved her for it…

Eily Nash ~2019

Beautiful image from Pixabay
LOVE, POEM, POETRY

Moonbeam

Image:Pixabay

As the moon pulls the tides of the seas and the oceans, do you feel me, my love, coming to you as warm waves washing upon the shores of your dreams?

I bring to you unspoken driftwood gifts of love, trust and eternal devotion for you to find upon the shifting sands of your lonely shore.

Do you feel the essence of me, playing softly on your skin, dancing and delighting in you, my touch silken as a soft moonbeam.

And in your waking hours will you remember fragments of a fragrant dream, where we danced on water beneath a Lovers moon?

~Eily Nash 2019

FICTION & POETRY, MAGICK, PARANORMAL FICTION, SPELLCRAFT, Uncategorized, WRITING & BLOGGING

Shadow Dancer

 

Is waking reality all it seems

Does Truth lie within your dreams?

 In your thoughts and in your head

The Shadow Dancer in your bed

She is the ice, she is the fire 

She is the flames of your desire  

Through the ethers Magic flew  

Did her witchcraft enchant you?

 

angel-1284369_1920
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

 

 

 

 

Eily Nash (2018)

 

 

LONGREADS, LOVE, SHORT STORY, Uncategorized

Beguiled By Beauty

When a married man sets eyes on ‘the girl with the far away eyes’ he is beguiled by her beauty. Will his desire for the lovely Maude be reciprocated and turn into something more?

Is it Love or dark obsession…

Maude Fealy
Edwardian Beauty~ Miss Maude Fealy

Do you believe in love at first sight? If you had asked me that question six months ago I would have said categorically no. I am rational man with a rational job. That is until the day she crossed my path. I guess I was in the space to let her in. Life was getting mundane. You know yourself. You wake up, kiss the wife, go to work, come home, kiss the wife. Sleep.

Dreamless nights that pass too fast, then you wake up and do it all again. It’s what we do. Without question. The days of wine and roses, who needs them? Once the golden band is on her finger, then the deal is sealed. Job done. Then time, crafty, insidious time, starts eating away at you. The minutes turn into years and you don’t notice because you are so busy waking up, kissing the wife, going to work, coming home, kissing the wife and sleeping. Then somehow, without even knowing how it happens you don’t kiss anymore. When did romance die? Where did you loose yourself? Then all you have is this familiarity and distance and a strange feeling that something is missing. A longing. A longing for what? How can you even answer the question when you know something is wrong, but you are scared of the answer? Too close a look and the careful world you have constructed to keep the wolf from the door and the bear firmly outside your cave is suddenly not so safe anymore.  So the indefinable something ‘wrong’ becomes the new normal. And everything goes on the same, evenings spent alone downstairs, my wife upstairs with some pulp fiction for company. Vague stirrings of guilt. Why did she need to read that stuff? Didn’t she have me? Vague stirrings of regret, we were all right weren’t we? What if the romantic fix she got from the pages of her books didn’t cut it and she wanted more, from me, or someone else? Would I have anything left to give, or even care? I thought about going up and joining her, taking the book out of her hand and telling I was here, I was real. Notice me. I wanted to tell her I had my own hopes, dreams and desires and if she would only listen then I would share them with her and she wouldn’t be white noise anymore. But how do you come back from too many years of comfortably numb? I didn’t want to look too closely at that and shoved the awkward feeling deep down inside and just let it go.

Time ticking away, your life ebbing, second by second. Every moment one-step closer to the grave and nothing in between. I had heard all about mid life crisis, even knew a few of the boys at work who had gone through it. Hit forty and hit a brick wall. The sudden desire for a tattoo, a Harley, a fast car, even a quick fling or two with whoever was willing. I’ve seen it end in tears, broken hearts and broken bones. Not me, I thought, won’t happen to me. No one told me about mid life madness. No one told me about Love, not love like this. Obsessive, crazy, can’t get her out of my mind love. I work, she’s there. I drive, she’s there. I’m sat across the table from my wife. We eat. We have nothing to say, apart from the usual catch up on the day stuff. It doesn’t matter, because she is there. Inside my mind. My wife is talking, but long ago I ceased listening. White noise. I smile. I nod. I agree. Whatever she wants, whatever it takes. Eventually my tactics pay off and there is blessed peace. I indicate I will be up in a while and she goes to bed, alone. Silence washes over me, a soothing mantle. And all I want is to go off, alone too. I want to picture her, be with her, the woman living in my mind. But it’s all a crazy dream. Or is it?

I first met her late one Friday night after a very long day in Manhattan’s Financial District. I wanted to relax and the old fashioned comfort of Harry’s Bar Midtown hit the right note. I should have asked the  cab to take me home to Brooklyn Heights, instead I walked in off the busy street into a cavernous basement. The walls were lined with vintage photographs from Hollywood’s golden days. The décor was oak and leather, low lights, discreet booths and reminiscent of a gentleman’s club from a bygone age. Somewhere someone was playing smooth jazz on a saxophone. The bluesy notes washed over me, soothing, with the music literally hitting just the right note. Cigarette in one hand, single malt over ice in the other, I settled back into the comfort of a big leather chair. I took a deep drag of my nicotine hit. Through the haze of smoke she appeared. Long, long dark hair, falling in tumbling waves over her slender back. And her eyes. Oh those eyes. Luminous, lovely and inviting. She was a goddess and she was there, right in front of me. I sat up and paid more attention to a woman than I had in the last seven years. More attention than I had paid to my wife in the longest time. Did I feel guilty? No. There was something in me that needed her. And here she was, in all her radiant beauty and she was present, right here, right now, a timeless goddess of the silver screen invading the recesses of my hungry mind.

“The words you don’t say speak louder than those you do.” She was a mind reader as well. I covered my embarrassment with a slug of whiskey. I resisted the urge to ask her if she came here often. Despite her soft southern drawl it was obvious she was always here. I wondered just how many men had sat here and gazed on her loveliness. How many men had she looked at with those faraway eyes? How many men had thought of running their hands through her luxurious long locks, pulling her into a tight embrace and kissing those luscious lips. I was getting out of my depth. Stubbing out my cigarette and draining my drink I stood up to leave. At that moment I was lost and she knew it, catching my eye her gaze said, “You’ll be back.” And I was. I was finding reasons to go to Harry’s bar with the boys or alone. Never with my wife. I knew Maude would be there. Waiting. That seductive gaze, those eyes, I could drown in the depths of emotional intensity. My wife truly would not have understood. How would I find the words to explain just how or why another woman’s beauty had the power to speak to my very soul? Maude listened to me. I found myself pouring out how I felt about my wife, about myself. I told her I didn’t understand just how we had ended up in this big freeze. Where was the passion, the magic? When had the fire gone out? I told Maude everything I could not tell my wife. I got the feeling she would have liked to meet my elusive wife. But how could I introduce them? How could I explain Maude, who she was and what she meant to me? I loved her for her beauty, her glamour and mystery. She had the allure of an icon of the silver screen. She was there, she was present but she wasn’t. I could look but I could not touch. She had made that clear. But I could dream. You are innocent when you dream. Maude knew these things and she knew I adored her. She didn’t judge me. There was no blame, no weight of disappointment for things I had done, and things I had failed to do. With Maude I was free to be me. A man with hopes fears and desires and she understood and that was huge, and with all my heart I wished my wife would too. I was out of my depth and I was drowning. I guess it was only a matter of time before my wife found out.

The questions had started. ‘What time will you be home? Why are you late? Where have you been? Out with the boys again, really!’ I had no answers. No excuses. I closed down. Maude or my wife? It was becoming a very hard call. Maude was becoming my drug of choice. I needed her. I didn’t need the third degree. After all I was innocent, wasn’t I? Innocent when you dream…And dream I did. As I climbed into bed each night I envisaged she was there with me accompanying me into the realms of fantasy.

‘I am an actress,’ she said, ‘A weaver of dreams and a maker of magic!’

‘Maude, you are luminous! Do you have a gold star on Hollywood Boulevard? Take me there!’

‘My star is a long way from Hollywood. Search the night sky for the Morning star and you will find me. I am your Immortal Flame. I am your goddess of love. Always remember Love conquers all.’

Together we travelled the World and danced under starlight skies. We banqueted within Castle walls, she was my Princess and I her Knight and somewhere a Troubadour strummed a mandolin and sang of our love. We visited the Alhambra Palace, walked hand through the Court of the myrtles and beneath the Andalucía sun she whispered sweet words to me. In the shadow of the iconic monument to love, The Taj Mahal, I became her Rajah and whispered words of devotion to her, my beloved Rani.

The mornings came, I awoke next to my wife, with her back turned to me. The gulf between us was now an aching chasm and I felt a wrenching loss in the pit of my stomach.

The night they finally came face to face with each other is etched on my mind. A cold November and the big freeze between my wife and I was now arctic in its intensity. Something would have to give. Even a row would show there was some passion left, some depth of feeling. I felt so surplus to requirement, the weight of her disappointment in me was becoming a burden too heavy to handle.

‘Don’t wait up. I have to work very late. I may sleep at the office.’ And I was out the door before she could question me. I had plans for tonight and I would face the music in the morning. Right now there was a fire raging and if I didn’t quench it, then I risked being subsumed in the heat of my own desire and aching need to be with Maude.

I got to the bar early, before the evening rush. I wanted to be at our table where I had first set eyes on Maude. The bartender, now familiar with my order, started pouring my favourite single malt Scotch, Glenmorangie, over ice. I settled back into the comfort of the deep leather chair and lit a cigarette. This is where it had begun. Maude was waiting for me, beautiful as ever. Every time I gazed at her I saw perfection and paradoxes, beauty both beguiling and innocent. I wanted to reach out and protect her. I wanted to hold her in my arms and tell her I would keep the wolf from the door and bad at bay. I looked into her eyes looking at me from a distant place and time, and saw her sadness and saw her soul. She was a star from a bygone age that shone so bright she still lit up my lonely night. But she wasn’t real. She was a fantasy. No matter how much I longed to take her in my arms, to love her, Maude would never be mine for she belonged in the firmament above. From her gaze I saw she knew that I, as so many others before and after me, would always be hers. A captive of beauty. It was time to say goodbye. It was over.

‘Go home,’ Maude said, ‘what you see in me, you first saw in her. What you feel for me, you first felt for her and you will again.’

The weight of loss was too much to bear. The double life I had been leading, the freezing cold at home that had caused ice to form over my heart had been melted by the passion I had felt for a woman who was not my wife. I had been beguiled by beauty, Maude had touched my soul and I would never be the same again. A great wracking sob clawed its way out of my throat and I sat, head in my hands and I cried.

I felt her arms around me. Warm, loving and strong. She sat on the arm of the leather armchair and cradled me. Slowly she pulled my hands from my tear stained face and her soft mouth gently kissed my sorrow away. I looked into her eyes and saw the depth of love she felt for me and my heart began to beat fast. She was so beautiful, she was here beside me and she wanted me…I took her by the hand and asked her would she come home with me because I very much wanted to make love to her. She stood up and pulled me to her. I kissed her with a passion and intensity I had long forgotten and all the love and feeling inside me washed away the years. I was a man with hopes, feelings and desires and my wife understood, she always had and that was why she was here tonight.

‘How did you know?’

‘I know you,’ she replied. ‘I saw the way you looked at her photographs on the Internet, over and over. I watched you fall under her spell. How many men has she enchanted? You are not the first and you will not be the last. I wanted you to look at me that way, the way you did before we both forgot why we had been enchanted by each other.’

‘And you forgive me?’

‘Yes. Maude’s beauty is her gift to the world. Beauty that speaks to the soul. She spoke to you and her silent words told a story of love, romance, hope and desire. And I heard.’

As we walked hand and hand out into the New York night air we turned and took a final look at Maude Fealy, an Edwardian beauty and movie star from a bygone age, as she watched over us from her home encased in a silver frame on the ‘wall of fame’ at Harry’s Hollywood bar.

At that hour just before dawn wakes a sleepy world, as I lay entwined with my wife I happened to look out at the night sky. And there she was, true to her word. Venus, Goddess of Love.

My Morning Star.

© Eily Nash

Thank you for reading!

From my book Nightshades~A collection of supernatural Tales