Doomsday’s Arrival

Art by Mark Bryan

The winds, starts to rattle the grey shudders violently

As it smacks feverishly, against the rattling windows,

Lightning so fierce, it streaks across an angry sky,

Then grumbles louder than the thunder that preceded,

A man rushes down the stairs, knocking over a lamp

And pushing aside a chair on his way to the shelving unit,

Resting on one of the shelves, is a framed snapshot of the family,

He grabbs it, punches the glass, takes the photo,

Then finds the car keys, resting on the table in the shallow light,

Cast by the over casting doom, fear overtakes him

As he yells out to his family, to hurry their task,

For the impending future, stampedes toward them,

He yells again, as he heads towards the window

And finds the two rolling horsemen of the world’s demise

On the approach, and their only chance of survival,

Was beyond their home, to which he yelled one last time

Before the entire family rushes out, together, all at once,

They pack the car, with all they could shoulder,

Kicking the dirt up, they sped away from the rampage,

A little easier to breathe, until the home they loved,

Where they built their family, was so easily picked apart,

All they could do, was trek ahead, hoping to survive,

The road was silent, as they passed through abandonment,

Even inside the car, not even the white noise of silent air waves,

He started to relive fond moments, it was where he fell in love

Many times, over and over again, with his wife

And their two kids, engraved, into those homey walls,

That no longer echoes the past, those intimate moments

Is shipwrecked, by the tidal wave of this apocalyptic end,

He looks over at his wife, struggling to find his voice,

“Do you think, we will ever rediscover ourselves,

Here, in the mist of what was, hiding from annihilation,

Will we ever rest, the fear gripping us, and lay upon soft grounds,

Or does it even matter, as long as we can huddle together.”

She speaks, within them, while looking back at the children,

“There was a promise, we made after our protracted conversation,

But you haven’t held up your end, not yet, there’s still time.”

He looks back towards her, then back to the emptiness,

“I don’t know if I can, what happens afterwards,

The unknown road, that will lead us to the next phase of life,

I want to remember all of us, you, in your bathing suit

Running around after the kids, as I play the announcer,

And after catching them in your arms, we all pose.”

“The same bathing suit, I’m oddly wearing at this moment.”

Suddenly he notices it, the same outfits in the still,

A winter chill, grew inside, as he let those words vibrate,

Why is she wearing the same exact suit from the picture,

He pulls over suddenly, swerving, stopping yards away

From a new set, of this impending conclusion,

“You did it, you went through with what we discussed.”

“There’s nowhere we can run, that’s why we decided to die together,

In our own way, beyond what was trying to keep us apart,

I understand your fear, after seeing our deaths,

But you can still find us, after you jump into the void.”

He pulls the photo from his pocket, they’re living in that moment,

And that’s where he should be, once he shuts his eyes,

He sees the engulfing black swirl of doom approaching

As he stares into the eyes, of the one with tattered wings,

A wad of tears, choking his words, he whispers to her ghost,

Looks calmly down at the passenger seat, backseat

And behind his, smiles, a tear held in the arch of his curved lip,

Takes a deep breath, in the knowing, they are simply, not there.

Dorian Poe 2019

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Nightmare VI

I’m spun around, and around, a phantom, toying with me,

Hiding, in the stretched out darkness

That im forced to trail, with my hand in front

Guiding, me further in, but with caution,

A sinking anchor inside the hall that seems to be collapsing

All over me, and through to lay on the ground

As I step, and crack the pieces, splintering in the echo,

Lost in the canyon of a hollow structure, I plant myself,

A doomed convection of light, seen, but ignored

As its brought me to this point, this horror

That seems to be my constant downfall,

Alone in the corridor, still feeling out blindness

With a broken cane, and an unwillingness, to surrender,

A wanderer who has to proceed along the daunting route

Only to find, that there is no wall,

Not on the side, in front or behind,

Wide rim, yet I follow the forward path

As if it calls to me, a siren aware of my torment,

Stolen threads, pulled on to unravel secrets,

A blank spot now, as they vanish,

Now I remember, what I’ve been blindly chasing,

Is it too late?

A Monster’s Sanity

~The Low Rising~

Blistering cold it was, the day it all began,

The clumped society wrapped in mounds

Of fleece, gloves, scarves -and themselves,

Some, more than others, who stomp through

Avoiding the excrement that they, in fact created,

Full circle motivation kind of thing,

But who are those, who ponder in the outer limits,

Not those who roam, with desolation

Consuming their minds, no not them,

For they stick up thier illiterate noses

At the stepping stones that crowd

Their supposed, high privileged feet,

No time to waste, steamrolling through to their perch,

Just to look down upon all those they crushed,

The degraded ones who still struggle,

Rubbing pennies together in their pocket,

Salivating over the idea of a hot, freshly cooked meal,

No bother to the Ivory tower, comfortable

In their bubble, but what if it burst,

What if someone was to slither through,

And remove a vital piece, from that skyscraper,

Would everything crumble, the whole structure

Of the privileged and all they hold so dear,

Who would even be brave enough

For such a task, as to take down the privileged

And show them the underbelly,

Oh but how and who, would lead such a movement

A revolutionary devious one, only to be jailed,

Oh, but how beautiful it would be to see it all, tumble down.

~The High Side~

Her phone has been stunted, and she reveled

In the solace of not having a surge of calls

And messages from missed calls, on top

Of text messages about those messages

After she had missed those calls -it was calm,

For once, she was alone with her own thoughts,

Quickly got bored, along with the song she was humming,

Started to leaf through a stack of paper loan applications

Until, she found one worthy of her weighed out time,

She noticed something in it, an error clothed and shaded,

But there it sat, pasted onto the page, and as she glared

At the ridiculous infraction, there was a rush of fury

Cursing, at her subordinates in her enraged mind,

Those beneath her, should have caught the oversight

As she grabbed her office phone, dialed feverishly

And awaited for the silence, just before sudden connect,

But it took too long, an automated voice recording,

She cut it short and hung up, spun around to her wide window

Overlooking the crown of the city

With the sun, just setting behind the mountainous buildings,

She checked her watch, crawling towards the end of the day

Praying the phone stays silent, as she stared

Repeating, “don’t ring!” over like it was her mantra,

And then, it rang, alarmingly jolting her from her solace,

“Now you call me back.” She said without answering,

“Its too late now, the application is submitted as denied,

And you can’t fix the mistake you made, not me,

Its almost five, I have a life outside of these walls,

If only you picked up when I called you…”

It stopped ringing, silence slithered back,

She smiled and collected herself,

Her jacket, scarf, gloves, and the stack of papers,

Dropped them all off, and headed out to catch her train.

~A Monster’s Fascination~

“There’s nothing better than feeling a heart flicker out.”

I said outloud and to myself,

Audible, so that I can hear the words

And as I sat there, I ingested those words,

Thought about each syllable and pronunciation,

Analyzed every pitch in that phrase,

All the while, it was provoking me,

The phrase -there was something about it

That drove me insane the more I thought about it,

I’ve experienced those words, ear to their chest

As the drum, after a loud rapid percussion

Stats to slowly weaken, bit by bit,

Yet, saying these words at a time of lull

Does something else, a feeling

That stirs in my gut, and echoes throughout,

Absent, from the world outside my infatuation,

Even the ringing phone, blaring,

Is muffled, inside my crowded clouded shell,

The urge grows and grows, bursting

Cracking the fragile shelled cave,

Sending me out from my solitude

And into materialality,

Walking, amongst the sea of ignorance,

Until I find her, the one that has no consideration,

Hiding behind her own pedestal, charging past

The mass, those she treats as the dense,

I use my charm, she falls victim to it, surrendering,

Without realizing, she’s in my grasp,

With my ear to her chest, listening

As the drum, grows faint

And I find, a satisfying end, to the quench,

For now, the urge has been hushed,

But it will bloom again, and then, the rest will fall.

White Owl

I appear to be, of relevance, as you rain tears upon your pillow

Held tight, as if it comforts your reverberating agony,

That’s crippling you, in your extreme emotional distress,

Begging, for mercy, but who do you suppose will listen

To an empty plead, being made only at a time of suffering,

Backs you into a dark, cold and wet corner, forgotten

Until you reemerge, and all is but an early summer cascade,

Then you toss aside your promises, and rediscover your torment,

Which brings you, to where I’ve surfaced, out from the umbrage,

Although I remain hidden from you, high in the rafters,

Listening to your saddening sound, as its dying,

From choking and gasping at the absence of relief,

As it overtakes the melancholy, hovering over like a disturbance

Bringing forth, the unsuspecting demon, ready to sink its bite,

As you lay in the still ocean, with a ripple from a single drip

Awakens your cognition, only to find your gaze locked

On me, staring piercingly, through the grey surface

Right at the demise, creeping out of your prolonged agony,

I am your moment of clarity, your epiphaneal light

Which you find blinding you, from the crack in darkness,

Trying to shield the fragile demon, I swoop down and perch

On the edge of lost and salvation, and putting talon to wrist,

Pressure from my touch, exudes the overbearing venom,

No words, for I do not speak in a tongue, you can discern,

Just my wide stare, that pervades the heavy oblique,

Bringing you forth, and distracts the lurking monster

Long enough, to carry you out from the impending storm,

I am difficult to conjure, but when a mind is at its weakest, I appear,

How long you’ve been falling, is what determines my success.

Chaos and Her Myth

Art by Victor Castillo

The night sings, reaching the high spirits that occupy

This sacred forest, as she dances along its spine,

Gleefully, as a child does, without care, or consequence,

Only this child, is no child at all, as told within it’s own myth,

She doesn’t belong here, for her presence distracts the follow,

But is that her intention, to see how rapidly, it all can crumble

As she hovers in the midst, revelling in the collapse

To which she holds the match, reflecting destruction, in its flame,

Oblivious, to the chaos that is savagely engulfing

All that has occupied her existence, that is now her solitude,

Yet she brandishes her painted smile, which is constantly appeased

By the havoc, sprinting through the fleeing lush panic,

It is the fire, soaring across the tree tops, blanketing the forest,

Leaving behind, only dust, in the frames of the bygones,

For how can anyone tame, an unruly, destructive force

With a tarnished past, tormenting her every action,

As she fled far from the expansive northern light,

Until her transgression, of all that has manifested

From her being, became a speck, in her conjured whirlwind,

So they fear her, as her myth spreads like a rolling tidal wave,

So much so, that they hail chaos, and make her a god of fear,

Not worship, but to revere her, in hopes of calm waters,

As she peers through the flames, spying on her origin,

Never letting those, who unleashed chaos upon herself,

Forget that chaos, will be their life, until their own, find death.

~Before

It was a perfect utopia, oh so many moons ago,

When our home wasn’t a brittle skeletal structure

That it is today, a sad and lonesome fate, we buried ourselves,

Deep within the torture of chaos, as we are now the tormented,

She resided in our town, a young girl, truly gleeful,

She was in the open lavender field, skipping and laughing,

Only she was not unattended, not too far away, was a pursuer,

Observing her, as she scampers through the brushing,

Until she stumbled, upon a boy from the town’s presence,

She started to tremble, seeing evil in his wide grin,

So she sprang, into a mad dash, back towards the town,

As the flower blades whipping her, as sprints past

Holding tightly to her sweet innocence, a delicacy

To the swampy town folk, clawing at her heels, salivating,

Just as she gets within view of her home, she collapsed

Down to her knees, as she watched in horror, tearfull,

A bright angry blaze, ripping apart her family,

Behind her, without noticing, gathered a proud army,

“You don’t belong here, you little demon, go into the flames!”

“Why have you done this, you cruel murderers!”

“Your family has darkness in their ugly hearts,

You’ve brought nothing but trouble from the moment you settled,

Now, it is time for you to wonder alone, or die with your own.”

“We did nothing to you people, we just wanted contentment.”

“How, when you tease the town, with your prancing,

We saw how you danced and brought sin to our hands.”

“You blame me for your horrid and perverse eagerness?”

“You either stay, and be a slave to our new desires,

Or escape, never to return here, amongst these ashes.”

She looked upon the crashing, of all that had kept her safe,

In minutes, it was reduced to waste, washed away with the wind,

She rose up, without turning towards her accusers,

“You won’t ever see me, but my fury, will always burn

And chase you, as you have chased after a martyr,

Be weary of your steps, for you shall now see your misdeeds

Along with the all those, who mimic your ignorance.”

And so it became, a world suffering from chaos.

Out From the Drift

The events, that have led you into the drift, remain vague,

Stunned at the absence that crowds you, as a flutter

From the stinging bitterness of the swarming tundra

Causes a twinge, down the seam, of the fragile fabric,

You struggle, with the blurred recollection, violently dragged

Into the listless stray, and abandoned, as you proceed

In solitude, leaving you open to the blueak, still silence

Of a constant stream, afloat, here in this winter desert,

Straining to clarify what’s embedded within the pouring mist,

You slowly crouch, below the constant stream

And notice a crow, perched above, stretching its beak apart,

Expecting it to echo a screech, but this hush stays intact,

Hidden, in the thick darkness hovering atop the contrast

Is the hunter, and you, their paranoid, panicking prey,

Softly, does this stealthy pursuer glide through the desolation

Never losing sight of you, while you wonder inside your rattle,

Trying to discover the path, beneath the iron curtain,

You seek blindly, unaware of the sinking ground

Below the weary traipse, of a lost, rusted anchor,

Amused by your fatigue, the stalker readies the attack,

Tightening the spread, quietly, with precise patience,

Oblivious and still, you follow your own exhalation

To prove to yourself, of your own, beating existence,

It’s time, to challenge the draught, but where is the well,

And now, here I stand, above my fading martyr,

You’ve always lived in the drift, escaping my persistence

For far too long, until this night, when you gazed upon silent death,

Only I can hear its shrill voice, calling to me, my hound,

It’s a pity how memory can fade, and vanish from the freeze,

Finally now, the drift is completely vacant and abandoned,

Laid to Rest

A tiresome warrior, has finally returned home, unsure

Of how to live outside, of constant deafening chaos,

He softly ventures, through the shrouded solace

With his trusted chaos companion, sheathed at his side,

Gripped, with an unabandoned fury, and haunting paranoia,

There are enemies, all around, in the whistling trees

And the rustling fallen debris, slowly sinking into the dirt,

The horrified soldier, in sight, is the besieging eagle,

Ever watchful, of the cascading embers, dancing

Between the branches, carrying, the snug noose,

Tightly gripping the necks, of all those, lost to battle,

Drumming louder, in the abounding rippling wind

That carries, the ghostly whispers of stranded soldiers,

Blood, burned into his senses, seeing it blanket

The calm solitude of his surroundings, stained,

He slinks down, closer to inferno, trying to distinguish

The subtle shrieks, that are so uncomfortably familiar,

Resounding throughout the petrichor, a place of ease,

Is torturous, all he can envision, is the death soaked battleground

That he crawled through, for he’s still there, crawling,

Or at least, his mind is, entrapped by the chaos,

Pounding steel agaisnt steel, dauntingly reverberating,

Bringing him down to his knees, a moment running parallel,

Explosions of birds chirping, and red sunlight sprays,

He lays, in the fragments, of loose branches, and shrapnel leaves,

He has never vacated the field, on which so many perished

By the mighty swing, of his notched battleaxe,

After all he has done, he slowly slips into darkness alone

In the calming caress of nature, while every ounce of misery

He dealt, is plunged into him, unable to withstand the agony,

Nature notices his torment, bestows pity upon the suffering,

Grows its roots, into a concentration, of sweet embrace,

His pulse steadies a bit, his sight clears from the shadows,

And can finally see, the pleasant tranquil brushstrokes,

Everything is composed, as he feels it all dissolve,

He shuts his eyes, and becomes nature, forever dormant.

A Lost Tale’s End

A rushing bitter wind, that does not cease, pushes

All throughout the barren forest, with no twig

Wavering in its path, as it surrounds an eerie collective,

Bunched by a haunted settlement, deep within the barrier’s keep,

Seen there, is time forgotten and slipped, into languish,

The moment is sheathed, of when it all was corrupted,

A nightmare, living out its terror, without any appease

To those, who bear the events, who’ve had their vibrance stripped

While they roam the gray, replaying what occurred,

A cemented finale, taunts the living, as the sorcerer revels,

Everlasting glee, surveying the misery and agonizing gloom

Of the forest folk, for this tale wrenches the hearts

Of all those who hear it, for that reason, no one dares, recite,

Even now, it aches to divulge its truth, to these open pages,

Of how the forest, became an eternal, winter graveyard,

It all emerged, from an unrequited desire, the villainy

That had crept up, invading sanity, pulling at its soundness,

Belonging, to a creature of longing, for their infatuation

With vivid eyes, that had pierced his stone temple,

Had become, his sole existence, all by which he was consumed,

Her smile, gave him lift, up out of his own misfortunes,

Her sweet perfume, eradicated his somber disposition,

Until, she shattered his euphoria, as he plummeted

Deep into a hollow dimension, within his own psyche,

Where a whirlwind, has trespassed, and brought affliction,

His Hyde side, was rapidly expanding, and replaced

His once calm demeanor, to become a turbulent venom,

Set to corrupt her happiness, bring it all down to a speck,

He found a curse, one so baneful, that it frightened demons

That lurked inside of him, to which sanity almost escaped,

Only those same depraved beasts, flinched and encouraged

The curse to breathe, giving spark, to the creation,

The next day, he skulked from the only alley untouched by light,

Followed her gleeful stride, past the town’s border

Into the equally spirited forest, awaiting her prince paramour,

Unaware, of a sneaking presence, surveying her beauty

That used to appease him, now stirs a volatile rage

That he used, to target, her daydreaming wonderment,

All while she roosted, upon the agreed meeting stone,

The cold pendulum, swung furiously, as she lingered

Under the complacent sun, hovering in the eternal echo,

The curse, had entangled her, oblivious to it’s clutch,

Locked, within her own time capsule, within an eclipse,

And the only way, to escape the curse, was for her heart to warm

In the embrace of her inamorato, for it was outside his reach,

As the ice barrage, gusted over the entire lush forest,

Unleashing the scourge, to devour light, without any prejudice,

Leaving the orchestrator of the curse, in the inmost of darkness.

Thine Own Self

What feels like dragging an anchor through the sand

Is just a weary man, stripped, of his beloved identity

As he looks ahead, to the forsaken path, and dreadfully sighs,

With dissatisfaction, of how he’s traveled an unforeseen

And an oblique distance, he ponders, how one man settles

While staring intensely out, through the frosted panes

Into a jaded blist-full scenario, that no one emerges

As the valiant one, but dreams, of a momentous moment,

Only to realize, he’s simply contrived the impossible,

A floating barrel, brimming with an unstable psychosis,

Closely stalkingly him in the pitch black unknown,

As he pulls on the weight, that forces him still,

So he howls, at the glow of the full moon, nestled

In the falling overcast, shrinking from its absence,

A furious fray, rages on, in the complicated mechanisms

Carefully cranking, each gear shifting the other in place,

What might seem, like an unruly jagged jigsaw,

Is paradoxical, for this man scours the land of dormant giants

That at any moment, will awaken, to tear him down, crumbling,

Then in a panic, he tries to collect himself, scattered

And struggling to keep bound, each piece resistant

To the onslaught of his fever, hoping harden his malleable

Self constructed being, riding the rim of insanity,

Fearfully aware, of the beasts still hibernating within,

And once those disengaged fragments, stray past the valley

They will rise, and take control, losing himself, unabridged,

Married, to the distant trail, never again, fully collected.

Visited

I lay my head down, eager to drift into a somber huddle,

But I feel an outstretched, bleak reach invading

My chest, sunken in, cracking the cage around the castle,

As silence stands, defenseless against the owl’s screech

I shut my eyes, and try to halt the vigorous spinning

Inside my head, as flashes of probability, is projected

Onto the backs of my eyelids, who is this visiting,

A touch, familiar, enlarges the drumbeat’s echo,

While I can’t distinguish, this perplexing occurrence,

I know it’s desire, its prelude to the awaited for cessation,

An evident resident, in the eerie hours of unrest,

How many nights, does this being visit my side of the bed

To watch me tremble, knowing of its ominous presence,

Even then, I have sleep paralysis from an absent dread

That surfaces, from its deep growl, and slowly ascends

Over me, gaining a glimpse, into my palpable panic,

Rapid, boisterous breathing and a feverish sweat,

Happens within a tick of an old, dried up clock,

Forgotten to be wound up, and given a entryway

For those that time, gives no pardon.