Stained Purity

Artwork by Ryu Eun Hye

A heavy darkness, is draped, and framed around her sullied grief,

For she never thought of his heft, until the severed head

Of her dear father, stoutly rested upon her hollow chest

While she intently stared, through the heavy curtain, of the night,

Into his pale blue lifeless eyes, that almost seemed, to reciprocate,

Was just her eyes, reflected back in the frigid shallow depths

Of her king, whom she once revered, with a kingdom, that despised his rule,

A lost empire, they walk blindly, towards the brim of the cuff,

As the stains of treachery, seep deeply, into the fibers,

Pain, trapped in the talons of deception, running rampid

In the grand castle, housing death, of those fallen to the shrouded blade,

It was the world in despair, perched, upon the young girl’s shoulders

As she softly asks, “Why?”, waiting for those cold lips to part, and answer,

But the eerie dead silence, weighs heavier, than the rotting disjoin,

How could she knock on the gates of sanity, expecting sincerity

When all it does, is ignore the plea of the lost, and of the broken,

But does that mean, the axis you’re buried in, has to be your grave?

A question, she struggled with, as she gently placed her father to rest

Upon the stained royal threading, like the one, sunken into the ground,

She vacated her bed, and approached, her blurred reflection,

Only, there was something else, peering back through the looking glass,

As she crept in close, she found a tight huddle of decapitation,

Painted, onto the folds, in rigid strokes that blended its unsightly disorder,

Which pierced the veil, straight into the heart of her innocence,

She questioned their appearance, searching her deprivation

For clues to clarity, knowing, their presence was the real query,

But her concern, was their striking anger, pervading desolation,

Nothing, but the whispers in her ear, from voices long snuffed

Out of existence, to be resurrected, in her hour of torment,

A glaring stain, that’s all it was, she repeated back, drowning the voices

Suddenly surrounding her, enveloped by their breath,

A rising fog in her narrowing canal, leading her back to the surface,

“Your hands!” – the voices repeated, like a skipping record

Echoing off each other’s final syllable, heard eternally

In her mind, as her fading grip on the tangible, loses the edge,

While these voices, coming from a mirage of floating deceased familiars,

Continued their repetitive chant, and feeling those words vigorously rattle

Against her chest, drowning her, in the avalanche of their onslaught,

Still hearing it’s chime, as it shakes off the rust, a ghost from her past

And a rising chill, that slices through, as time stands still

Atop the broken pendulum, forgotten about amongst the rubble,

Hooked, into her consciousness, as it slithered through her senses

Leaving behind a grave remembrance, like a figure in ragged cloth

Slowly scraping its scythe, along the conscious dread,

She felt it’s jarring slither, invading her temple, tightening it’s grasp,

As she ripped herself out, from the inside, and examined the parasite,

It’s familiar villainous glare, captured, her bewildered attention

And dragged it, with its thorny tentacles, tattering along her entrails,

Purging this alien being, examining it in a stunned silence

As she becomes consumed by this evil, stretching out, spilling

Onto her crumbling perception of her own sanity,

Who were these gruesome faces, glaring, at the poor girl, losing her religion,

Starting her monologue in order to rationalize her madness,

Trying to convince herself, that it was only a haunting mirage,

But then she noticed her cage, was slowly shrinking, tightening its choke

Around the absolute, leaving her gasping and frozen, in it’s imprint,

Grasping her head, as if it was the only way, to keep it attached,

Closing her eyes, feeling for tranquility, to which has dissipated,

Leaving her stranded, alone, in the complexity of this moment,

As “Your hands!” again, reaches out from the infinite darkness

Of her own chambers, where these faces, have found birth,

Or have they been stationary, from before the dawn of her time,

Only now, breaking silence, as they catch her terror-filled attention,

Dragging her sight back towards the perched dominion,

Pulling her in, staggered over, planted back on her stained damask,

And strayed her sight, to what she hoped, was a horrific illusion,

Tucked up intothe bedstead, as the watchful eyes follow, meeting her gaze,

Piercing her shaken soul with their watchful daggers,

Then, in unison, they speak… “Your hands, carried our words

Lost eternally, in the tears crashing down us, for we are known!”

Feeling, the wakening cracks of her dessert tongue

As she forces speech, wide eyed and dismayed,

“Known… by who? What is the reason for this horrifying presence?”

“Your hands carries our weight, our debt, in the blood you spilled.”

Those last words, chimed around in her sunken skull,

The horror still perceived, within her bewilderment,

“Who’s blood?!”… was she already bathing in it, taken from the guillotine,

As she crashed against stone, constructed in her own clouded mind,

Stopping her from cognizance, dormant, upon her padded frame,

As she was afraid to lose her grip, upon the shadow that she cast,

For she did recognize the gazing, frightening huddle,

She bolted herself onto her likeness, speaking to her past, suffocated

Under the anchor she drew upon herself, forced deeper

Into the shadow of her virtue, until the moment it had shattered,

For her empire, collapsed, under the weight of treachery,

Losing sight of anything further, past the point of her father’s doom,

Suddenly the room spun Her around, as the ragged cloth approached

With a dusty veil, draped from its crown, scrapping a scythe of bone

Beyond the deep of its narrow cave, toward her illumination,

And it’s true reveal, slowly pulling back, shedding the darkness,

Divulging, the unkempt veil of matted, and tangled hair

That seemed to blend, into the stained ragged cloth it wore

As it continued to replace, the space between them, groaning,

And dragging its skeletal foot, beyond, onto the foreground of her disbelief,

There, amongst the spinning silence that entwined their convergence,

Was the distant shadow, now in front of her, a glaring reflection,

As her insanity grew from the heart, it was awakened, by her mind,

A sinuous mound in the collapse, down to her frail knees,

Suddenly, the little girl, was a fallen angel, amongst the bones of time,

Her own moment, calcified, while being buried alive, within insanity,

“I know the gruesome expressions on the faces, peering through the shallow’s deep.”

Awoken, by the beast of her own hollowed out incarceration,

She was never far, from its breath, heavy upon her nape

And reminded constantly, of the head she had torn off, by sharp steel,

In order to save an empire, that fell, along with their queen,

But even though she had retired the beast, it tends to rise, eventually.

51422 D. Poe

This Midnight’s Visitor

Created by Linda Unger

Once, upon a furiously biting chill, was a vanishing man, desperate

To battle through stubborn barriers, that encapsulated his struggle,

For not a single ounce of gain, could this stranded soul grasp,

Huddled, into the soft dark, forced, to witness the fury of the storm,

As it was the night’s eye, peering down, upon his heavily draining

State of weary, and unrest, fading any inkling of ease,

Sunken deeper, into his velvet plush web, trapped in horror

With the panic, of his very own distress, he embraces a Neverending night,

Which finds it’s perch, upon his sil, tapping ever so gently

Upon the fidgeting glass, that can barely keep the rage contained,

Tap tap, tap tap – unnerving, as each tap was burrowing into his scalp,

Incessant beckoning for his attention, from those quick jabs

By a devil bird, dressed in shadows, but still discernable,

Splintering the glass, letting in a low clash of howling winds,

He tightly clasps his eye lids shut, as the tapping continues, loudly echoes

In his very own outstretched halls, with the cannonade, inching closer,

Becoming a deep thud, rippling into a shallow resonance,

Narrowing in, struggling to pacify his now erratic breathing,

As if his chest was going to cave in, and leave his heart, under the rubble,

To escape it, he ventures out into the maddening stir,

Shouting, “No winged beast can follow me through this void!”

Not realizing, his sanctioned place, his very own stoop,

Giving him a lack of distance, from the tapping persistence,

As the “winged beast”, stalked, upon the man’s obvious misery,

Suddenly, sees his retreat back in, hearing his wrestle,

Bursting in through the door, startling his unwelcome visitor,

Now hovering, vigorously flapping it’s wings, fighting against storm,

And finally, the fated shatter of the window, allowing in his guest,

In, with a flying frenzy, zipping around, knocking over sanity,

He reached for his fading, yet slightly lasting grip of the dissolve, to peg

This creature, with those fallen parts from the decomposition

And then, by the powers of Willow, the bird, metamorphoses 

Into a Sphynx, standing tall, with such a look of distain

But then rubs her head upon his shivering torment,

And as unpredictable as all felines are, it goes for a chomp

Upon his apprehensive status, and avoids insult to injury,

“Such a rude visitor.” He gruffed, reaching for the bits of leftovers,

As it echoes in speech, crashing hard against the silence,

“And you, are a rude host, as you should be honored at my arrival,

For with this open canvas available to me, I planned my perch here.”

Puzzled, he chose to ignore this nuisance, but would it dissipate,

To dwindle past his recognition, and stay stranded,

Would it’s “gracious” presence, even allow to be treated as such,

He wondered over to the shattered open window, searched

The pale night sky, for exactly what, wasn’t obvious,

But it pierced the brick that stood firmly, and into his dominion,

A bolt of lightning, with Satori, swinging into his lucid consciousness.

“What possess a man, to sentence himself to death row

From the strangling comfort, of his sofa, and tying his own noose,

While he writes his memoirs in dust, to erase, in the forthcoming breeze,

There must be purpose, cause, for my rapid breath.”

Softly spoken, yet loud at the very same time,

“You’ve shed the clouds, that have been attached to Achilles,

And now your purpose, in hibernation within, can resume,

Just make sure to leave that window ajar, for I may return.”

And as quickly as it came, it vanished into the gray,

That now displays cracks, of vibrant blue, highlighting the mundane

And ascending beyond the pale, bringing forth, a new day.

The Stranded and the Asthmatic; An Alien Western

What I,

At 38, living

On my own Two pogo sticks,

for 15 years
Have to send
To my parents,

[Insert text here…]

*Hey, its late and I’ve been drinking, so I’m sleeping over at Irene’s (my sister). Sorry I didn’t tell you before. I lost track of time… and, I was really drunk… still am 🤪🙃😝*
Now, that I have been
Forced, to live with my own
Mamma and pappa… again,
So thankful, for their generosity
By taking me in, a stranded mouse,
On his own with his asthmatic cat,
What parents I have,
A pleasant surprise, at the end
Of a very strange tunnel,
Yes, I am back at my home,
Which at one time, was a place I ran from,
I now find myself there,

Here’s the pilgrimage, a western if you will,

That led me back, to my childhood home,


FADE IN; trading in, my Batmobile:
My first car, that I absolutely loved
And miss, so much!!!
I was presented, whith a fun spunk
To my arsenal of bat-motors,

A re-imagined batmo… robinmobile!?!?
Which, only trice, did I flip,
The calendar pages, of the Child,

I stood at the edge, of her total eclipse,
When a flash flood, came, and wrenched
Her away from me, her guts, sizzling,
While submerged, in the swampy depths
Of this wetland, where I’ve resided, for a decade
Of my perfectly contentnt existence,
[Sigh] She was replaced,

but not with the same luster, nor the same edge,
But a month and a half later, what fate
Has brought this to my entrée?
Hurricane fu’king Ida, barged in, shoving
This footloose, and fancy free stag, on the street,
No concerns, for where I can lay my head down,
Me, and my very own, Harley Quinn,
An asthmatic Sphynx, newly diagnosed,
Oh boy, honestly, because my twisted brain,
Thought the absolute, very fu’king worst,
But she’s doing better now

…thank you,


And thank you, to my parents
For taking us in,

…the stranded
And the asthmatic

There were no aliens…

©️Dorian Poe 9/19/21

~P.S.~

Happy birthday to my beautiful amazing sister Irene, and thank you again to my parents for everything that they are helping me with during this fu’king insane time in my life. I don’t say it nearly enough, but I love you guys. I am forever in your debt 🙏

~P.P.S.~

Thank you to Chewy for staying up until 5:30A.M. writing this and killing aliens with me.

… OH, WAIT!?!? There were Aliens