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.

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,

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.

Nightmare V: Scorned

Follow me down the unforeseen, as you strain

For my hand, hoping that can settle the constant wavering,

Currents push and pull your sight, as the pressure

In your unstable mind, turns it to a vast emptiness,

You start to choke, on the words you’ve tried to sink,

Hoping they’d be lost, never to crawl back up your gullet,

Didn’t realize, the girth, as your fluttering eyes swell,

A drink, placed before you, to help ease the decent,

As I move a chair for which you occupy, it becomes a casket,

Buried, in the forgotten icy depths, emerges my relief,

I chain the gates of insanity shut, turn towards the horizon

To walk away, as your voice comes through, chills

My painful exhale, seeing the fog roll out from my lips,

It grabs hold, tight grip around my entire being

And I can’t help my tremors, running all through my nerves,

Crashing me back down, to that polar ocean chasm,

You’re latched on, disallowing my persistent disconnect

So you can continue to taunt, living inside the stormcloud,

I get up, sprint ahead, as my lungs tighten and burn,

Yet I haven’t gone anywhere, I’m running inside the plot

That has grown stagnant, yet I believe the reel spins,

Alone, in a small dark theater, buried in hypnosis,

Aware, yet unable to escape, a grasp, itself unaware

Of its overbearing tenacity, huddled tightly to a broken clock,

I slowly creep, towards the silence, as she turns

In consternation, of my present approach,

“Death is vengeance, eradicating measure to which we cling to.”

A boom! Hurdling me back in, to the suffocation,

Floating in the open congestion, blind to every direction.

Ever Running

How often, does that moment repeat,

Like a jagged puzzle, it gets pieced together

Right in front of you, just the same it gets dismantled,

It plays out, every second, in every direction,

Looking into the twisted crystal ball that you can’t let go,

Your mind is overtaken, they all flood the gates

A million voices, stampeding and screaming

For their part to be heard, pushing over one another,

Trying to squeeze through to the front

Just to tear you down a bit more, until you’ve vanished,

Gone into the void, still with those barking thoughts

That seem to be racing around, chasing after itself

As if its trying to catch the villain, not realizing

Their the one with the glowing red eyes,

As they continue emphatically bouncing

Off every echoing wall, and crashing back down

Shaking the stillness within, as you wrestle alone,

Hearing their chatter, louder as they jump

Off ledges, landing beside and all around you,

And all you want, is to sleep.

The Runnaway and Her Guide

Her heart, bears down in her caved in chest, like an anchor,

Too heavy, are her steps that make deep impressions

In the soft snow, leaving her trail as she tries to vanish

From a villainous, overbearing shadow, closely following

As she sluggishly drags herself, wounded by a distraction,

A path, that sat so clouded, she couldn’t see the descent,

Fallen, so far down the rabbit hole, with the weight forcing

Her down further, nothing to ease her into liberation,

The shadow, ingests any inkling of light, trying to squeeze

Through a swell of darkness, only to have her crash

Back into the clinging holds of the shadow’s depression,

She claws at the abyss, escapes and carries her sorrow,

On the run again, she’s found, but by a carrier of light,

An albino raven, hoping to carry her heart, in aid

So that she can fade, past sight of the stalking shadow,

So the raven takes hold, of her weighted torment

As she starts to walk, a little easier, leaving no trace

For the eager and engrossing shadow to plague,

Yet it rolls forward, sniffing for her distinction,

Closing in, the raven urges, for the runaway to hasten

As the raven feels her slipping, back into extinction,

He then spreads his wings, eclipsing the rolling black,

Hoping to cloak her, with her languid fractured heart,

The raven does not abandon her side, as she collapses,

But now, a shallow drop, for she has her loyal guide

To carry her out of the fog, and when she slips again,

He’ll pick her back up, filling in the shadow’s nest,

To one day, sustain the crushing pendulum of her anguish.

Out of Sight

The station is swarmed, with rushing waves of robotic steps,

No one acknowledging the other, unobservant

Of the evil, amongst them, for they’re completely focused

On their own, selfobsorbed, face buried into their screen

That is constantly running, as they pass the chameleon

That doesn’t have to try too hard, observing the detached,

Why would the stampede, halt at his feet, or even acknowledge

His passive presence, that barely flutters the butterfly,

A tattered vision, tucked into the deep crowd,

He displays, their hideous nature, for them to peer

And gawk at, disgusted by his horrid stench that pervades

Their carefully crafted bubble, ignorant to the reality,

He revels in the convoluted entanglement, seemingly orchestrated

By the devil in his skin, but no one notices his enjoyment,

Although distinct, it hides under the world’s congested noses,

Out of sight, but deep in their minds, is the mass puppeteer.

Lost Out of Light

Art by Andy Kehoe

I shed myself, shaking in the hull of darkness,

I try not to make a sound, searching for the entrance

That will lead me, to the land of light, where it’s safe,

As for right now, I feel there are a million hungry eyes

Fixated on me, as I trail through the sinking land of shadows,

They know, I don’t belong, walking amongst the dwellers

That hide behind draped curtains, not from terror,

But to track my steps, waiting, for me to loosen

My grip, upon the sheathed dagger, battered and worn

It holds light, etched into it’s edges, a useful deterrent,

But how long will it protect me, as I’m surrounded

While I’m stranded, feeling out the blind emptiness,

The growling gets deeper, closing in on my wandering

Around the dark howls, seeking the distant gateway,

I’m lost, out of the light, mislead by the masquerade

That is parading in the treetops, gaining my full attention,

No matter where I find myself, I’m running parallel

To where I want to be, yet I’m spun in the dreary landscape,

Clutching tighter, onto the dagger, as my pulse narrows

And it gets difficult, to collect my breath, struggling

In the absence of clarity, settling in to the glooming clouds,

Hoping they can’t collar me, to tie me to the abstract,

Holding me just out of reach of light, with its glow

Nearly gracing my toes, a torture set by these dwellers,

They thrive, on the misery of light, and I’ve walked in too deep,

My legs, can barely carry me further, as the dagger slips,

Into the abyss, I stand upon, for anything that lands

Onto the same ground I’m lost on, also goes missing,

I’ve strayed, past the protracted, unsure, if I’ll ever locate

My way back, to the blended doorway, that I’ve traveled

Through on many accounts, but stayed close to the border,

This time though, I took a long tumble, down this hill,

Treacherous and unyielding, darkness, will always break

Those who harness light, upon their fragile chests,

So here I’m stranded, shattering, under the suppressing anchor,

Piece by piece, I’m losing myself, absorbed by isolation,

I wasn’t dragged here, I wasn’t pushed or bullied,

I slipped, crashed and lost direction, and now, I’m a dweller.