Trail Through the Dark Forrest 

A frozen grasp runs down my throat, 

And into my heart, clutching it, hindering 

The procession, an inkling of what lies ahead, 

The dense silence that echoes in a swarm, 

Cannot perturb my anxious forage 

Through the towering darkness, haunting 

Every step further into desperation, 

Short strides against the grain, into the growl

That enters, from the darkest depths, 

Time speeding to its end, a rolling mist slinking 

Into my sight, as I become the missing one, 

Photo wrapped onto posts, I cling onto the trail

Vanishing beyond the lost, seeking out for me, 

My light starts to fade, crippled in the dread, 

Everything around me starts to blend together 

And no longer do I have a path, 

No longer do I need it, 

An intense burning cold surfaces, 

Am I still going into the abyss, floating 

In the black hole, bringing me to reveal 

What I’ve searched through this abandonment, 

The sinking ground that has consumed so many, 

But I’ve unearthed it, only to be buried, 

Slowly lowering, closing ends to the Everlast 

And concluding with contentment, the trail 

Has claimed its loneliest victim. 

Dance into Death

The still of the moment quaked, within her already 

Convulsive body, starring at her ripped apart masquerade, 

Stuck in the throat of the hourglass, gasping for warmth 

As the stabbing chill, trickles down her curved spine, 

The cloud within her grasping onto purity, polluting 

Her fading heart, once beat with ferocity, is now flickering, 

A dried up husk, left out for the circling horned vultures 

Salivating as innocence is bled out, pooling beside 

Her collapsed world, the only one she’s known and loved, 

Disintegrated in the fire she possess, brewed deep 

And erupted out of her, now she stares at the aftermath, 

Tangled in the deep twisted web, watching, clutching 

To the cross, singeing the light into dust, to impale fear

While deep in possession, of her resident demons, 

The snake stalked its prey in the tall blades, from slinking 

Into her crib, wrapping itself around her feeble throat, 

To her decline onto the dance floor, where a figure dressed 

In a burnt white tux, and a vile grin eager for her arrival, 

The poison spreading, consuming brilliance and taking

Her picturesque home, she disgusts herself watching

From her secluded tower, confined to this merciless takeover, 

Able to only witness the violent seizure coming to surface 

From within her own eroded vessel, sinking to unreachable

Depths, where care, concern and hope suffocates the breathless, 

Her demon, outstretched towards the crashing tower

As she runs, with it all crumbling beneath the decay,

Stifling her cry, as she chokes on the smoke, slithering 

From her slowly dying glimmer, picking up the dagger 

To subdue her persistent demon, waiting for their dance, 

To snuff out her clip of light, only remaining from her tight

Grasp upon her own fragile childhood, but nurtured, 

As it should, only to surrender at the will of the dance, 

She finally meets the darkness, with the dagger in possession, 

She has lost, before the music even began, taking stance 

The dagger held out together, slipping away from her arrest, 

As he forcefully brings her into his keep, under his domain, 

The spilling sand burying the past, as the demon fully takes over, 

Swallowing her whole, as he dances with her, yet without, 

In the ferocity he absorbed, only to let loose in an outburst 

The grim fire talons, lacerating the girl’s entire dynasty, 

Severed, from the sanity, engulfed in the cycling agony, 

Torn to the pits where obscurity keeps her consciousness, 

Looking at her broken palace, rusted over by the eclipse, 

Leaving it all to the decay, death being her demon, 

He spreads his storm from the empty, lost at sea vessel, 

Dancing alone to death. 

Sight at the Edge

Like the hunted, I sprinted to the edge of the cliff

To be subdued by my demons with joyous relief,

While the wolves are clung to my heels, salivating

At the inkling that they will bury their fangs 

Into my hollow struggle, surrounding me in the shadow,

Growling as they solicit my forfeit to their rules, 

To their own ways, desperately trying to drag me backwards 

Into what you were molding, the gallant tourist 

Showing off the coruscant of what would be left behind, 

Brewing the guilt of Macbeth, clouding my sight, 

But there are thirteen reasons why I find the cliff

At this moment, standing below it all, a stampede 

To let go, be far from the devil living beside me, 

I’m ready for truth, past these gates, which I hold tight fisted, 

Leaving its mark upon my arrival, reminding me 

One last time, what I’ll abandon once I cross the threshold, 

Back turned towards the lightning strikes, flashing

Against the stained rocks, nestled in the destination, 

It’s been a long journey to this entrance, to my judgment, 

Even with the pack growing inside the tall gates, 

I am here, at the precipice swallowing the sight ahead, 

Sinking into it and accepting fate of my own story

That is coming to its end, after all endured, 

Peace has come unto me, while wolves lose the scent. 

How many demons follow you up the hill? 

Complications will always be apart of life; 

Sickness, depression and hurt shadows your steps, 

Find the peace in the experience of sight.

Returning

They’ve returned, after the annihilation 

To find their home, beyond recognition 

From the burning winds, sinking all they knew

Into the deserted light, reflecting in their suits

Without penetrating their conceived safety, 

Surveying all that decayed beneath their feet

They hear withered screams floating off 

In with the rest of the wondering debris, 

The land lies barren, empty of what once was, 

Returned in pursuit for all that they’ve lost

Discovering their possessions belong now 

To this alien world, infused with its desolation, 

Buried in disaster, gore in rubles of memory, 

All that they can recall is the blast, aftermath 

Is all that remains, and whirlwinds beside them

Showing distance inbetween the rolling storms,

A vast forgotten scape that they must uncover

To find any shred, of what they left behind,

They move past the shrieking cover, probing 

Further into the erosion, 

Further out from their way back, 

Crunching other relinquished items of past 

Under their steps, stumbling upon a block 

Compressed, of ancient times and possessions, 

Sitting beside a heated watery grave, occupied 

By one, preserved by the past breaking off

From the boulder and dripping in, 

They approached the pool, staring 

At the floating coarpse swimming on its belly, 

One of them started toward the shallow pit

Reaching out, finger tips barely grazing 

The slightly decomposed arm, yet able to hook

And reel it in for inspection, and found himself,

His black eyes staring into the empty oculus

Of the known drifter, shuddering his spine,

“Is the face gone beyond recognition? ”

Says the other, walking to rippling puddle, 

“No, it is mine, clearly.” while capturing 

His own snapshot, “now we look for yours.”

He draws out a blaze, and flicks it,

Disintegrating the very last, of his own remains, 

They walk onwards, combing the not so distant earth,

Ensuring, no other could depict existence. 

©DorianPoe2016

Taken by Sight

On the dock, staring off into the never-ending,

A vacuous vista that is always in control,

Although clueless, as to what dwells past 

The stretch of any eye,  I’m struck with fear

Of what approaches, the daunting unknown,

Lay with me, she begs, as my panic is constant

And ever grasping onto the fled concentration, 

A tall tale, spread down ear to ear, giving birth

To paranoia, latched onto my erratic map

Riddled with visions concocted outside

The falling gates of insanity, for I wandered

Too far to find what was creeping over

The horizon, in a shadow upon the distant light

Where it perched, for years waiting to crash

Every stable thought, 

Every stable beat beneath her chest

That was echoed into my eardrum, distracted, 

And stolen out from my slumbering awareness,

No one has captured sight of this fabled myth

Trapped in imagination, projected

Onto the deep wavering chaos, slamming 

Against where I stand, held captive by sight

Of a cursed pirate ship, with torn hollow sales, 

That, among many other totems, I envisioned 

To loosen the grip around my throat 

From this fixation, of a story that has haunted 

My every  breath, about the devil’s advocate, 

But how can something nobody has seen

Cripple me, grab tightly around my occulus 

Sealing out all that I have turned away from, 

For I damned myself, waiting for the end. 
 

On the Battlefield of Life and Death

Silence, gripping her throat, as her eyes gasp
For air in the fatal heel clicks of his scythe,
Appearing from out the unknown reaches
Of abandoned lives, comes the cold shadow
To rape her of color, drag it while it scrapes
The hardened path to the underbelly of Sanity,
The demons playground, populated by the lost
And scorched by all those who continue to fall
Into the grasp of it’s engulfing sand, buried
On impact, as she feutily battles
With the dragging noose of that fable,
Shedding doubt, while the darkened fog
Swarms her mind’s sonnet, distracting
Her unsteady clutch around the fading light,
For all she desires before the inevitable plunge
Is one last glimpse, of those she’ll miss,
As the battleaxe slips from her grip, darkness
Comes toward her, places it’s cool hand upon
Her, and lulls her into it’s keep, tearing away
From her, all that she has nurtured
In her own arms, all that she frays for,
All the years of cuts and bruises on her heart
From this raging war that she bravely fought
To stay above the hollow echo, only to fall,
For death will always be the victor here
Despite our best efforts and strength,
She carries with her, the marks of victory
Throughout her war, that aged her well,
She’s now ready to let go.

Between the Growl and the Fog

image

My escape has been stunted, by the murky unknown
That stretches out before me, radiating
The creeping darkness, crawling towards me
From out the thick blindness, that I must get through,
The decaying bridge wavers in my hesitation
As the growling, grows louder behind me
Shaking the stiffled limbs that refuse to thaw,
Where will I be, if I strain into the ingesting fog?
Can I truly outrun the steady pursuant familiar
With my stench, studied my vacant steps
In the forever desert of consciousness,
Can I hurdle the giant’s stalk to make it past
My glooming premonition, stalking me,
Slithering my step an inch further down
While the growl pervades and interrupts the silence,
Which, in turn, forces another inch by inch
Until I’m fully immersed, into the coddling,
Sentenced to the overshadowed distance,
Lost, to the growl that has plummeted down
Into the looping void, still in its search,
I’ve failed in my escape, I’ve chosen the wrong side.

Stolen Senses

image

Do you dare to turn away from the door,
Slowly creaking, as it opens to show
Its daunting depths, your enemy reaching
To tear your life out and bring it back
Into hollow emptiness, feeding starving vultures,
But you pin yourself, tightly into the corner’s edge
Locking, your tiring gaze upon the oozing dark
Slithering under the bed, and over your head,
Pinching your lips shut, to suffocate any whimper
To not give away your voice,
Squeezing your eyelids until they wrinkle
To not give away your sight,
They hunger for it, feeling for vulnerability
Of the glass, holding in the quicksand,
The rattle of its drag along the room hisses
In your ear, as you realize
You’re left open as it takes your hearing,
Your heart plummets as you open your eyes, blind,
Gasping, but no sound emerges,
You’re left, vacuous,
Stolen senses by those who feed on them.

©DorianPoe2016

The Resident

In the midst of my journey, I’ve contracted
A villainous disease, tearing away at me
While I stare out into a world, I can no longer
Grasp, for it baits me further into emptiness,
Starved from exploration, in seclusion, Withering inside the shell of death
Carving days gone, into my surroundings,
Shut in, as deterioration shows its face to me,
This curse, has bound me to the heavy clock
That struck twelve before I wound the heart,
Memories stolen right from my clutch
By the trickling absolute, crawling
Along the spine of the bruised plane,
Making its web thick over corrosion,
Lifting life, out from every nerve left pulsing,
The window gets tighter, in the span
There are fewer things felt and seen,
A stationary ladscape, one I can not climb
In an exploration of its sights, it’s majesty,
The shadows hush over me, desecrating
My hollow dome, slowing pace while
Spreading this contagion to the surface,
My host, crippled by the shackles
Around him, purging all he has accomplished
To drown into depths never seen,
Atop that mountain, before we broke
Is where we left ourselves, to now mourn
Memories never to be remembered
In the fading, down at the bottom by the dirt,
Ready to be lowered into eternity,
We explored, but can’t recall the Arctic chill,
We felt the crumble of stones beneath our feet
But can’t find the scars it left, with these Wrinkles, crowding the painted canvas,
Laid to rest, the journey ends without effect.

©DorianPoe2016

Thirst for Chaos

This rubble here, used to be a home,
Whispers of what once was, lingers in the ears
Of darkness, where these remains rot,
Memories and dreams, charred beyond thought
And recognition, in a still sleep, smoking
Amidst the forever residents, blended
Into the debris, left in the forgotten,
A sunken ship atop the exploded volcano,
No more life, no more cool breeze
Waking up the house where a family vanished,
Into fragile ash, crushed in the fine breath
Exhaled from their enemy, roosted upon demise
Of what he couldn’t bare to see, the good
Without any overcast, there needed to be chaos,
And in the calming of the after, he struck a match
To the gullet of this well made home
Just to watch it burn and swallow happiness,
All so he could smile watching from Olympus.

©DorianPoe2016