Beverly Kyle is a business analyst by day and a gothic/urban fantasy/horror aficionado by night, which is evidenced by her taste in books, movies, clothes, and music. She’s been writing poetry on and off for years but has shared very little of it publicly until now.

She lives in Toronto, Canada with her husband and their two beautiful cats.


Dead souls run rampant over the barren grounds,
Moaning in their abject pain,
but no one is around to hear them cry.
Their rest disturbed, they are relentlessly chased,
Hunted by the shadows of the night,
but no one is around to hear them skitter.
Some cluster in corners, hiding from the wind,
Others dance around in circles, unable to escape
From the nightmares that overwhelm them.
There is no peace here in this place.
No mercy either, these old bones have been forgotten,
Marked only by lifeless gravestones
That no one ever visits.
Beaten by the elements, crumbling from neglect.
Even those silent sentinels turn their backs
On the souls they were made to protect.
The moon, it shines less brightly here.


Darkness fans out through my soul, a raw chill
That searches out the very corners of my psyche.
Blood spreads, like the wings of a majestic raven,
Melting my veins in a pleasure so deep it hurts to let go.
Following me…
In the wake of the setting sun, I rise to claim my domain.
A captive of the night, I try to fight this darkness,
a clutching hand at my throat.
The fraying of a velvet cord, moment by moment,
And the link between life and death is severed, and there am I,
Forever suspended in the middle.
My heartbeat flickers out; a torch I no longer carry, but yearn for still.
I am the follower…
…her footsteps mere echoes of a heartbeat I once sustained.
And now I covet that silent beating mortality,
That rush of bubbling life through my useless veins.
Tiptoeing through someone else's dreams
For a mere touch, a shadow of a hope.
Tasting with the lips of a savage, within the chains of a slave.
I try to run, to fight,
But I can never erase my final dance, my last footsteps,
My closing breath extinguished by the fires within.
I can never forget that endless moment of a broken touch,
And lost sensation, now frozen in suspense like a dream
I have never awakened from.


The wind is picking up, gathering force,
Reaching deep within for strength and purpose,
Coming closer.
I sense it before it reaches me.
The leaves rustling behind my steps,
The sudden chill in the breeze,
The edging darkness of the evening.
Intensifying, deepening,
Warnings of what may come.
And I can hear it following me
Whistling as it swirls and garners power.
Will I be its target this time?
Or will it brush past me on its way,
Blow through me as though I were not here,
Yet remind me of its presence?
Am I its destination, its intention,
Or merely an obstacle in its path?
Either way, I close my eyes, breathe deeply and brace myself.
Just in case…