Come Back

The reality of death, is the stalking feeling

You get, the little hairs stand at attention,

And you freeze inside, vanish into the distance,

But somehow, you’ve come back, you haunt,

A ghost story, perched upon its past, what it misses,

Eager to feel it against its bust, to sync with the heart

That gave you a louder drum, which has failed,

Torn and rusted over, but you persist,

Getting louder, squawking until it all shatters,

Yet no one notices, and you refuse to abandon

Your post, ignoring the flaws that tarnished

Your feathers, streamed down, from your black eyes,

You’ve come back, but your ghost is a withered memory.

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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

A Fly on the Wall

Riddles infest my burdened, insomniatic mind
Watching, the fly upon my wall, how bored
It must be, peering down at a dented bed,
Then wondering, why not find a more appealing scene,
Am I that entertaining, swimming in misery
Of the mocking tick coming from my bedside clock,
There goes another hour, debating the shit eater,
And just like previous night’s, I’m consumed
By the deep labyrinths that I, trapped myself in,
Until, there came a knock upon my door,
Not the front, but my chamber door,
Despite its haunting peculiarality, I opened it
Finding only an empty hallway, dark and cold,
Silence echoes through, this eerie vacant hall
With my heavy breath fogging my surroundings,
Chilled whispers reach out for me from behind,
I back in, to my chamber seeking for what has crept
Through my gates, and into my unrest,
I feel my entire body, tense up from a horrid chill
Pulsing me up against the far wall,
And then, it appeared to me, in the mist of my breath,
My floating demon, keeping me from dreamscape,
Jumped, into my chaos within, amplifying it,
Until I imploded, forever asleep.

What is normal to the fly,
Is chaos for the spider.

©DorianPoe 2015

The Hunter and it’s Prey

An abrasive squawk, barges in
To a tightly grasped serenity,
Always distant,
Running into the depths, from it’s
Predator mocking a chilled turmoil
Is I, as I hide in the mid summer’s
Night garden, from the dwelling beast,
Sniffing out, my dread,
Where is my resting scape,
As a vanishing point, loses sight
In the crushing waters
Swallowing, the unattainable light,
Silence in this wrestle,
As I plot my stiff, weary bones
Beside these huddled stones, upright,
Tall, as they seclude my pant,
But for how long,
How much of the sand wastes away
Before my hunter, catches wind,
How will I know,
Will it be when cold fire seizes
My heart, in the howling echo
Of the collapsed pendulum,
As the vacant chime, of a halted world
Shines just enough light,
Upon me,
Found in muddled fright,
How long will I do this, hiding
From the stalking truth
That I, am a stranger
Amongst the living,
So I rise arms open as swift wings
Of my scrounger approaches
And carries me away,
Into the ambit.

©DorianPoe 2015

Glimpse of What Vanished

The diligence of him carried the world by,
For all he wanted, was to find her light
Hidden, in the darkest recesses of emptiness,
She was still, laying in the dining water
As every sail, went on beside the fear,
The guide bringing them, blocking
Thought in the paralysis of beat,
He stood there, amongst the daring
With fire glaring at his fainting strength,
By the pinch of sight into the beyond
He captures her, in the waning window
Of revival, for she seems further away
Every moment he can’t see her,
He jumps in, falling faster down the singed
Path, eclipsing his decent was the dark
Of the plateau he ascended from,
He crashed to the above originating
Below where he poured night
Into the delusions perched on the table,
Realizing, his glass is empty again,
She’s gone, faded into the whispered wings,
As he gets up, puts foot into grass
And walks up to her grave,
Staring, looking for a glimpse
Of her, to capture.

©DorianPoe 2015