Darkest Demesne

Good morning! I hope you guys are ready for a steaming helping of cosmic horror because, boy, have I been cookin’! If you’ve ever enjoyed Lovecraft or you like that movie Annihilation with Natalie Portman, you’ll probably dig this one. Let me know in the comments what you think. Without further ado…


Darkest Demesne

Atop the mountain

lies a fortress.

Beneath the stones,

lies a fountain.

~

Unnatural and indecipherable,

the masonry tells

the story of a being

whose presence trails

the very last of the bells.

~

In the dark,

It comes;

My master.

To quell the living disease.

Upon that stroke of midnight,

I make haste to the gate.

I whisk past maze-like halls

and labyrinthine corridors

to the old and battered door,

covered by runes and chains,

behind which It slumbers.

As I venture deeper into the dungeons,

where no light penetrates,

I begin to hear the distant, disembodied, interminable screams

that haunt my every waking moment;

I come upon the fountain.

The waters glow faintly with a distinct sickly, violescent purple.

My head, again, starts to pound as I draw near,

the intricate designs of the stonework calling out to me,

reaching out, yet again.

A sacrifice must be made.

I draw the sacrificial blade

and move it gingerly to my shaking, outstretched palm.

I make a ragged cut.

As my blood drips into the fountain,

the wailing quiets for a moment.

I am knocked from my feet by a gust of wind that tears at my skin like sandpaper;

all the while, Its howls reverberating throughout these dark and desolate halls.

This formless, black mass, blacker than the dark that surrounds, alights and descends again upon the town below.

It hungers.

It feeds.

I envy them as I watch the color fade from their faces

and the blood drain from their veins into the pool before me,

its purple waters now flowing crimson before my eyes.

I fade in and out of consciousness and find myself again in my bed,

in my chambers.

~

My torturous servitude remains immutable.

I am bound to these old cobbled stones and dark, cobwebbed halls.

I was once the lord of this castle,

but in my hubris,

in my… ambition,

I called upon powers most foul.

I cannot remember the last time I saw the light.

~

Now…

My master.

It calls again.

Amphora

Good morning! I’ve got a poem inspired by ancient greek history for you today. It’s been one hell of a year for me so far. I finally graduate in December. I suppose I’ll have to change the About Me page. Exciting! Without further ado…


Amphora

Empty vessels,

these amphorae,

they stand the test of time

with so many stories

laid upon their old and tired skin.

They tell the tales

of long-forgotten ails,

of ancient whales

and ill-remembered pales.

On them are the histories,

the scorching, burning blisteries

that would assault you

at a touch.

They care not for you today,

locked in everlasting clay,

locked in everlasting decay.

Blood trickles down the face

of an ancient warrior

entrapped by monster’s embrace.

Entranced as you are,

you cannot stray,

you cannot look away.

Not from the sight of such dismay.

Crimson pools at its base

and soaks your filthy shoelace.

Perhaps there’s something to this old and empty place?

Battered and bruised,

you’ve made good on this chase

but coming to a head,

now you’ll realize that there’s just far too much red.

Brilliance of the Erstwhile Mind

Good afternoon, everybody! It’s been a while since my last post – my apologies. If it’s any consolation, I’ve certainly been in the kitchen. Just cooked up a hell of a poem for y’all today and I sincerely hope that you enjoy it. Let me know what you think in the comments below and don’t forget that you can follow, donate or contact me with links at the bottom of the “About Me” page. Without further ado, please enjoy…


Brilliance of the Erstwhile Mind

Awash as he is in prismatic violence,

assaulted by waves of color and silence,

the man opens his mouth to let out a scream

and nothing comes out but bubbles and steam.

~

Lacking lungs to breathe

and breath to seethe,

this cold and empty violence

rips and tears the skin away

in shrieks of angry violets.

~

Unabated, the silence grows louder;

his ears fill with crushing deference;

humility.

Screeching as the banshees do.

~

Fleshless, violescent, iridescent hell;

it scrapes the skin from his skull,

exposing his tissues to the void.

Forced to reticence and destroyed.

~

What beauty comes from this?

The ending then of bliss?

The dream of but a single kiss?

~

Then, there, in his final moments

he’ll dream of the beginning,

the middle,

the end.

Die Wilde Jagd

Good morning, everyone! I have been in something of a rut as of late. This has reduced my writing output… but not killed it. Today, I have for you a piece inspired by a fairly popular part of germanic/european culture: The Wild Hunt. Let me know if you dig it in the comments below. Also let me know if you’d have any interest in other mediums for my writing. Youtube channel? Anyway, without further ado…


The Wild Hunt (Die Wilde Jagd)

And so the riders tread their way across the sky,

sheathed in dreaded blackness.

At their head does bray one ghastly steed

that now you’ve seen

is forced to feed.

It strikes a chord

and does pursue

in one cascading cavalcade.

There is no flight

from the absence of light.

Hounds bark and thrash

against their horrid masters

but sounds do not they make,

lest you’ll join them faster.

Ghouls and ghosts do fill their ranks

silenced by swords and bombs and tanks.

Hoofbeats pound

and horns do sound

as sailors crash and drown.

This time it is you they’ve come to see,

so lost are you in that ancient sea.

You’ll join them now

if just to be.

Die Wilde Jagd ist wieder gekommen,

und sie musst fressen.

Entombed

Good afternoon, everybody! I’ve got another little piece today. Something sadder than the last one. Without further ado, please enjoy.


Entombed

The writing, my dear.

Scrawled there on the wall;

can you see it?

Those old runes…

What could they mean, my darling?

Chicken-scratch, sure.

But what if?

What if there is something to them?

What if it’s about us?

What if it means something?

All of it.

Can you read it?

Interpret for me the symbols of antiquity?

You always were smarter than me.

I am confused.

Something you’re all too familiar with.

It made me angry before.

Now?

A hollow sadness.

Memories and dreams reverberate through old and decrepit halls.

Could you…

Could you help me remember?

What am I doing here?

Where was I going?

Who are you?

Who…

Who am I?