The Black Unicorn

Deep in the ancient shady forest where the summer breeze flows ever sweetly dwells the scent of a black unicorn

Peacefully grazing in the thick frail blades of meadow grass, this majestic creature gently lowers her head into the grass

Minuets and moments whisper by creeping through the breeze which swishes back and forth down her great mane

Her great dark wings extend as she senses a nearby predator lurking deep within the shadows of the meadow trees

Tension charges through her beautiful black sleek body

She raises her head and stands at attention revealing her true divinity

She begins to tread hard on the meadow grass with her dark hooves

Sounds of deep hard thunder echo throughout the ground as her hooves

pierce the soft ground again and again

Fiercely she shakes her head back and forth, snorting with irate fury

Withdrawing back into the shadows of the meadow, the predator flees

Silence once again returns to the meadow hidden in the dark ancient forest

The gentle breeze soothes the great majestic unicorn, as her tension subsides and her wings gently sway down guided by the gentle wind

Beginning to relax she lowers her head and resumes grazing

As the evening begins to fade away, the night overshadows her and the soft breeze gently lifts her beautiful scent across the frail meadow into the moonlit sky

By Micah Krahn

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The Heart’s Universe

In a sinister and broken

place where words devour

feelings, thoughts become

withered, and the soul remains

shattered. Is a place where

sadness and fury dwell.

Where simple words penetrate

an already fragile universe.

A frail cosmos colliding with

fury without forgiveness and

vengeance with no motive. A

time bomb waiting to explode.

There is no light in the

darkness. Only loneliness

remains. Hope cannot fathom

a better world crushed inside

this macrocosm. Swallowed by

 sadness and seclusion. She cries

watching her tears wash away.

By Micah Krahn



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The Witch of Silvenguard (Part 1)

Within the icy harmonic hills of Silvenguard where the chilling shadows of winter’s sleep await its defiance

The lone citadel of Aranoriah quietly anticipates the insolence of evil amongst the moonlit sky

Inside the dark courtyard a glint of silver is reflected off the spring allied by the horde of trees.

Ahead of the steps in the cascades, a faint whisper can be heard…

Intrigued by the whisper the branches begin to intertwine silently toward the soft murmur

A young girl cries softly upon the cold white steps of the fountain surrounded by three sirens gently chanting

“Ilenariah, drink thy immortality”

Gazing into the shimmering waves, she soothingly drinks in the cold haunting water.

Strident shrieking could be heard past the courtyard and through the shadow of winter’s vendetta beneath the skies Silvenguard.

“It’s poison!” she screamed

The poison spread like wildfire to her heart, transforming her dark hair to cotton white, dark wings begin to crawl out of her shoulders.

Horridly hissing at her, the sirens vanish into thin air, laughing disappearing into the bitter wind torrentially twisting and leaving chills down her spine.

A taint evil has berthed in this accursed place.

By Micah Krahn

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I stand here

I stand here gracefully, birds on my branches.

I stand here for a purpose; my branches sway softly in the wind.

I stand here and look below watching a young boy play.

I stand here listening to His mother read Him a story.

I stand here, the young boy now a teenager with His father.

I stand here watching him speak to the elders in the temple.

I stand here, watching Him grow as I have.

I stand here, He is now a young carpenter building a table with His tools.

I stand here watching Him performing miracles; He heals the blind, the crippled and the weak.

I stand here watching Him eat with His friends; he takes a piece of bread and a cup of wine in His hands.

I stand here one of His friends betrays Him with a kiss on the cheek.

I stand here watching… His blood runs down His pierced flesh as He is forced to walk under the torment of His pain.

I stand here watching Him being sentenced to death by crucifixion.

I lay here naked stripped of my beautiful branches, broken, twisted and carved.

I lay here broken like Him; He holds my carved twisted broken body on His shoulders as He stumbles up the path.

I lay here as the soldiers nail His hands and feet to my hard carved structure of wood.

I was once beautiful and free like Him, now he is broken and twisted like me.

They raise us up on ropes and chains, now I stand here holding Him.

I see two others like me carved and scraped holding convicted men like Him.

I stand here holding Him as His blood drips off me and into the dust.

I stand here holding Him and listening for His last words.

I stand here listening, I here Him say, “It is finished” and He dies.

I stand here the weight of sin in His broken bloody body from the world.

I stand here; He cannot carry my weight so I humbly hold him.

I stand here lonely in the blood stained dirt, He is not here, and I saw the soldiers roll the stone in front of His cave.

I stand here, a cross on a hill and He is raised, I have seen Him!

I stand here with outstretched arms praising the Lord yet still watching; I see a dove in the sky it lands on my arm.

I stand here fulfilling my purpose in life and I will see Him again.

By Micah Krahn

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If You

If you loved someone else, maybe I could live with that.

If you found out I loved you what would you say or do?

If you married someone else my life would shatter like frail glass.

Everyday I live without you knowing the truth about my love for you I whither and die a little.

I would rather die a thousand suicides then to not love you at all.

If you die, I will die with you, maybe then we will see heaven together.

Hand in hand.

By Micah Krahn

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In Remembrance

On these snow covered hills through the endless diamond shimmering hectares of trees. Frosted with early morning delight there lies a road, a sad and lonely road which has endured through time and testimony. Children laughing and playing in the snow, the jolly noise fills the air.

Weddings have also taken place on this road; brides have often walked down the dirt road in spring with the flowers blooming and waving quietly in the warm breeze. Photographers followed the brides at a quiet gentle pace with the sound of the cameras clicking repeatedly. Sadness and pain have also left a mark on this sad and lonely road. Cross upon cross can be seen in the fields on both sides of this road.

We remember the wars once fought for our freedom, many souls were lost so we could live ours in true freedom. This road was there when our soldiers fought and died there. Some wounded were taken to safety on this sad and war torn road, in remembrance, we ponder the sacrifices of freedom this snow covered road endured, the bravery, the compassion, the laughter and even the sadness.  At the end of this road lay endless fields of crosses and along the way a single rose at the side of the road.  Yes, in remembrance, we choose never to forget the true sacrifices of freedom which our beloved ones, died to protect on that sad and lonely road.

By Micah Krahn

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Life Without You

Life without you, is unbearable.

Life without you, is unchangeable.

Life without you, is inconceivable.

Life without you, is improbable.

Life without you, is dull.

Life without you, is dead.

Life without you, Impossible.

Life without you, is unthinkable.

I am enduring an eternal hell on earth without loving you.

by Micah Krahn

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The Cookie

It is often round.

It often has chocolate in it.

It takes like a little piece of heaven.

It can often make the tears go away.

It is often flat or bumpy.

It is often eaten with care.

It is often complimented.

It can bring a smile to your face.

It comes in many flavours and colours.

It is often found at parties.

It is often loved by animals.

It is loved by certain Muppets.

It is sometimes found at campouts.

It is often at picnics.

And I love it lots!

By Micah Krahn

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Wings of Fantasy

Gracefully fluttering here and there I saw many butterflies over the mountain stream that watered the creeks in the valley below.

Magnificent wings of fantasy swept the sky in an explosion of colour as a noise rang out in the valley.  What was that noise?   It did not matter, nothing seemed to care.

In absolute perfect-ness of the early morning.

The pureness of the moment had not passed, it just begun.

By Micah Krahn

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The Wolves of Dracula

Deep in the dark primeval forbidden forests of Transylvania where screams inhabit night and day, is a place where vampires feast on the living.

Through caverns and across canyons fortified inside the Citadel of Count Dracula secretly dwells a horde of wolves.

These barbaric rabid savage creatures prey on the night and feast on the screams which echo through this ancient woodland of dire evil.

Starvation has run rampant.

The scent of fresh blood fills the valley, as an exodus people franticly run through the woods.

The taste of fear is imminent in the eyes of the hunter.

Irate furies tear through the horde of waiting wolves, as hell is unleashed upon the helpless.

Blood splatters the leaves and the rocks as the wolves tear flesh from flesh and bone to bone.

Hunger becomes the dominant species.

As pure hatred and evil take over in a callous slaughter of the frantic innocent.

Pure evil dwells in the mountainous terrain of Transylvania, behind the protection of Count Dracula.

By Micah Krahn

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