Love and Horror

He felt alive, was able to breathe, and stir his thoughts

About all, that had been happening to him, within the vacancy

That had become his domicile, still furnishing his bare walls

With closed doors, that hush, the stained path forward,

A sky blue door, rich, in its delicately painted strokes,

And like a stone wall, it forces him to stay stranded in the storm,

A heavy downpour, crashing hard upon his vulnerability,

As it never even creaked, staying silent, staying still,

As another door, slowly stretched open, it seemed so inviting

Until it slammed, just as he approached, a sting from the scorpion

Held in the center, protruding from this stone barrier,

He’s been scouring this earth, for too long, a path of thorns

Frame the way, tirelessly painful exchange of moments,

Searching, past the shallow end, only to be stripped apart

And dragged right back, to where I constantly return,

It’s the horror, of this love story, the doors show no weakness,

As he, seems to be stripped down, exposed and discarded,

Yet he rallies, and approaches a new door, becomes the invited

Perched under the grand chandelier, huddled in its shadow,

And then her sees her descend the shapely staircase

As they embrace each other, and float along the melody

Into the depths of time, running it out, together,

Or was he simply, a man pretending, to be there

Dancing, with the ghost of his fantasy?

After the Fall

He bursts into the dimly lit room, jarring, the settled silence,

Thrashing the stillness, and corrupting the somber space,

A disorganized orchestra, shouting at the splattered chaos

As he creates a hurricane, shredding this once, happy home,

While seen past the draped rainfall, and heavily clouded windows

Is the lucid view, of his distress, sprayed across the scuffed floor,

For every object he grabs, is another painful, shrillful chill

Singeing, up his spine, sending him on this path of destruction

Where each object is pitched, and fragments upon impact,

But the life from them, vanished long, before this night,

He used to hear their heart, caged, inside their silence

And let them sing, encouraging their spirited orchestra,

Now, a lackluster remembrance, within the death of inspiration,

As he continued his warpath, plunging further down his rabbit hole,

Suddenly, a hollow knock slices through the palpable air,

Interrupting the madness, or perhaps, further igniting his rage

As another hollow echo, drums, along the crumbling shack,

Thoughtfully hidden, deep into seclusion, yet discovered,

Again, is the deep thud, forcing him to charge towards the source,

And without caution, he thrusts open, his chamber door,

His face, flushed with plum, at the realization, and he whispers,

“What if this, is the hell, that I live in?”

He finds the jagged sliver, just by his foot, dancing a reflection

Into his face, begging him to lift it, from the cold floor,

“There is no one at my door, yet there knocks one’s persistence.”

As he creekingly shuts the door, unsure of the origin

To this maddening knocking, that starts to resonate, in his crowded mind,

With the door closed, he stood there, resting his sweaty head

Upon the stressed door, listening, to the broken silence,

And then, a thunderous voice appeared, from right at his neck,

Spun around, he caught gaze of an unknown man before him,

“How have you come to be at my toes, I saw no one enter.”

“You invited me, don’t you recall our conversation just before?”

A vacant look, upon his face, puzzled by this stranger,

“Here, let me remind you of what you have clearly misplaced,

I was knocking, for what seemed like an eternity,

Until you threw open the door, startling me,

We spoke, briefly, until you let me in, and here we speak.”

“But you knocked.” Still with a slight hesitancy,

“Yes, I did mention, its how you finally came to be in my presence,”

No, you knocked again… after, while I held the door ajar.”

“I see, that is strange, was that how my previous knocks resonated?”

He took in the sight of the stranger, his smile, deeply curved,

“Why do you ask?” Leaning back further against the door,

“A curious soul, please, if you could answer my query.”

“They all sounded similar, not one different, from the other,”

And as the last syllable, left his lips, the walls stretched,

The ceiling, along with the attached racing fan,

And molding back, into himself being behind the wheel,

Parallel parking, into a tightly narrow space, success!

The sun shined down upon his face, as he smiled up at its warmth,

Suddenly, that same hollow explosive thud, bounced through the air

As it all went black, until he walked back in, angry,

But never bothered with the reason, why his temper flared

As he had returned, home from an ordinary day,

But for him, it was sweet, with warmth in his embrace,

Her face clear behind closed eyelids, with the sun as the projector,

Stolen, robbed of her smile, as he came home,

Lifting objects with her essence, hoping for her vision to return,

As his anger grew, unable to return from the crypt,

“You’re the devil!” With a rising anger in his proclamation,

The stranger chuckled hard, at his absurd statement,

“I’m the one that shot you, grabbed your money

And ran into the street, blindly, and was struck by a speeding car,

This is my hell, this is my house, you’re throwing my things,

Please, I beg you, please stop destroying my home,

A blank look upon his face, “Why are you in here?!”

Pushes the stranger out, slams the door, locks it,

A fire in his eyes rises, as he sees the chamber, put back together,

And starts to thrash, the resurrected home, his whole world,

While the stranger stands outside, getting smashed

Repeatedly, by the car that killed him, to the chaotic orchestra.

Ode to Solitude

An owl streams down, and lands, upon a bare limb

Trying to balance its weight, upon the weakened cradle,

It peers down, at a stranded soul, lost to the world,

For he’s been forgotten, forced out from consciousness

And left, to the vast vacancy, an endless suffocating swallow,

With only a spark of light, emanating, from the constructed glow,

Huddling by the flame, not for warmth, but for the vision

Dancing in the fire’s roar, which has entranced, his focus,

Bringing him in deeper, past the drum, echoing in his head,

Discovers, the simplicity, of the surrounding wilderness

And the complexity, within the blaze, fighting off the dark,

Watching them blend, in the rise, and fall of the tide

As crushing waves, climb up over him, encapsulating solitude,

Further into the submergence, shedding his shell,

For he, is himself, in the welcomed solitary company,

Even though, there was a watchful pair of eyes, he was unaware.

The Vision

I tightly clasp my eyes, flicking on the switch

To the vision, floating to and from the foreground

Of my, chaotic mind, always spinning and steam pot whistling,

Until, the vision slows it down, and softly whispers,

A most welcoming inertia to the constant battling,

So vivid and apparent, gracing the turbulent shore,

Steeping in the darkness, as the seconds hesitate to tick,

An escape, that saves me from the monsters roaming

Freely throughout, disturbing, the already crumbling wall,

But the vision, helps steady the suspended wire rope

And guides me across, with warmth, on the nape of my neck,

Easy, as the commotion dwindles and hushes,

My whole world, has found solace, as the vision lays beside

And I drift, content in its cloud, forgetting it all,

A suspension of Nightmares.

Keeper of the Light

I discovered, what was said to have never existed,

Something so elusive, I’m struggling to keep my grasp

As I feel it slipping, melting, into the enveloping drain,

Trying not to frighten, or dismantle what is already trembling

In my presence, and in my huddled keep,

Shielding it, from the darkness brewing in the clouds,

I am a keeper of this light, but more of an admirer

For its brilliance, resonates in uncharted depths,

So I cradle the shine, warming the icy hallows

While the stature of fury grows, aiming to dull her lustre,

It stretches it’s reach, eclipsing, the vast horizon

And I’m staring, into the chasm of its widening gullet

That aims to swallow her, forcing me to abandon my post,

How can I, secure her luminescence, being sought after

By the suppressive shadow, of the rolling grumble,

So I set her free, and conceal her in the absence

As the dark chases distractions, I keep a shred of her, within.

The Long Wait

Artwork by Eddie Mendoza

She stands upon the overgrown platform, peering into the distance,

Seeing nothing, but the green swallow, of the abandoned city,

Breaking through the concrete, plant life has consumed her world,

The death, of this modern civilization, leaving her stranded,

Waiting, for what seems like a never-ending delay

To the transport, that would ferry her through the devastation,

But the evergreen wasteland has crippled, her passage,

A perpetual static pervades the stillness, yielding solace

In the maddening vacancy of this terminal, her cage

And the stagnant wind that brushes her hair across her squint,

Straining, to hear the world, outside this shrouded silence,

But she hears nothing, but the rustling in the bush

As a wondering cat, springs out, and rests by her stance,

“You know, that train isn’t coming, might as well find better lodging.”

Surprised by the cat’s speech, and that she understood,

“How long have I been here that you’re now speaking?”

“Just be thankful for my voice, and the conversation,

Don’t worry, about what can’t disrupt this simple pattern

Of you, perched upon this shallow plateau, stuck in a glimpse,

The longer you stay here, the more your roots will stretch

Down into the concrete, losing yourself to the hysteria.”

The girl, drops to the ground, cradling her heavy head

As the cat nears closer, nudging at her hands, to rise,

“If I disembark here, I might have already lost.”

“Fear of losing, chains us to where we can no longer grow,

And that, is where you settled, running while standing.”

She looks away, towards the sheltered and empty pathway

With no movement, no slowly halting approach to the wait,

“I’ve seen the rust spread, and choke, the low glimmer

Which has guarded me here, afraid to let me leave

Digging its thorns, all around, stifling any and all hope.”

“Yet, you still posess the fight, keeping you afloat,

For why else, would you conjure me to unlock the chains? “

The cat, and the vines that kept her from leaving, evaporate,

She begins a different path, away from the overgrowth,

Heading home, hoping that it too, has not been overtaken.

Dreamscape

There we are, in the dream that seems to have no finale,

And I’m perfectly fine with it, to breathe in those moments

Everlasting in my mind when I lay to rest, replaying

Her words, that had made me weak, wrapped in her arms,

All I have to do, is tightly close my eyes, and I’ve returned

To her arms, lying intertwined, hearing her heartbeat

Following mines along the trail of that blissful night,

Never to repeat, until I slip back into the dreamscape,

I’m better, there in the soft darkness, feeling her warmth,

But then, details become vague, she starts to fade

And I endlessly chase after moments, that don’t want to be remembered,

For it pains me, not feeling her pressed to my chest

And the dreams, only hold enough, to crush the broken pieces,

Where can I run, when even my escape, is left to haunt,

A tarnished smile, as I beg for a spotless memory

In order to sleep soundly, and not have to be reminded of what is lost,

No matter how far I trek, or how deep into a dream I vanish,

She’s somehow there, in a glimpse, back into the dream.

Wanderer in the Storm

Art by Stefan Koidl

In the heavy shade of a room, a boy, stares at the rain

Streaming down the pane of his window, as the world continues

To revolve, steady, along the constant corrosive monotonous course,

As the boy, holding on tightly, to tangible memories

That have no place here anymore, wisp away, into darkness,

But he fights the disintegration, to no avail, lost in his barren mind,

Only gusting winds, through the channels of now empty memories,

Unfortunately, the brief years, hasn’t given the boy it’s dexterity,

Suddenly, a sharp chill, enters the room, disturbing the black

And there, between the drops of rain, encrusted on the glass

Is a reflection, a dark figure in the puddle, beyond the reach of his home,

Only, the boy cannot find the source of this ominous reflection,

No one there, standing, on the soaked and empty walkway,

But the tall and slim dark figure, manifested in the puddle,

The boy couldn’t trust his own eyes, it was beyond the bounds of reality,

Yet there it was, no eyes, but can feel the figure was starring

And the boy, couldn’t remove his sight, for the figure, felt familiar,

Which was why the boy, was led out from his sorrows

And standing, only inches, from this cold haunting appearance,

As the figure gently greets the boy, telling him not to be afraid,

While all the boy could do, was gaze, into the collected water,

It tells the boy, that it is not death, nor life, but a nomad,

A wanderer, that has been torn away, from being palpable

And then finding itself, residing within a hurdling chaos,

Then the boy, with overbearing hesitation, stuttering

Through, asks, whether the figure was a vengeful ghost,

The dark figure softly replies, that it wasn’t certain,

For it is not its purpose, there was anguish it wished to settle

Peeking through this storm, following its dismantled will,

It needed the boy, to ease the rumble, rattling the cage,

And all it wanted, was for the boy, to be its witness

As it laid out, its hand, asking the boy for his trust,

Looking into the shallow reflection, the boy complied

And gripped the air, finding a solid object in the absence,

They trailed across the gray, to a still and silent bridge,

They get to the middle, as the figure releases the boys hand

And suddenly materializes, while standing, on the edge,

“Here we are, this is where we accept our final bow.”

A stinging chill, swells, in the boys pounding chest,

“I needed you to know, where the flood rushed over,

I stood here, peering, into my own reflection in the deep

Until I rushed down, trapped in the murky speculum,

It’s where we end, our decent, and you’re the beginning,

I told you before, of our torment, it festers and paralyzed

Our hopeful existence, to this end, and now I drift in regret,

For how can we, walk upon the petals in a dreamscape

When blinding sorrow and affliction, hang like heavy drapes,

I’m trapped here, surrounded by the misery of the broken,

So why not try to help, so that the grim wind, settles,

Even just for a glimpse, of the sun, peaking through the fog,

There was light worth basking in, I ignored its brilliance

As I suffocated, in the dreary cave, until it was lost,

We can’t allow our demise, to repeat, when hope rises.

It is up to you, in this time, to break past what drags us down,

Trust me once more, it’ll make the shackles, weigh less

So that we can carry ourselves, further off away from the ledge.”

He walks over to the boy, places a hand on his shoulder

As the sun breaks through, causing the boy to shield his eyes,

And after a moment passes, the sun still shines, his vision returns

Finding he’s back in his room, in front of his window, of dried up rain,

No figure in the puddle,

No clouds hiding the sun,

And the boy, finds same those fading memories, intact,

And slowly, a smile, stretches across his face, melting sorrow,

Looking ahead, to hope

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

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.