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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Other Than I

Time, within the possession of me reaching the far edge

Of the train, has vanished from existence,

As well as the recollection, of this blood stain

That appears, not to be my own, as well as the blade

Carried, in my trembling hand, also bathed in the unknown,

I can hear my heart’s chatter, louder than the metal clanking,

I throw my sight, from side to side, trying to gain a sense

Of what lies behind me, a puzzle, missing its fragments,

As panic, digs it’s talons inside the teetering tower,

I wonder where my mind had slipped to,

Had it betrayed me in my worst moment

Only to awaken me in the dark depths of chaos,

Suffocating in my own narrow gullet, lost inside,

I have to shed this skin, and can’t let myself be seen

As I peak through the crack of the door sliding

Opening wider, with the grooves of the tracks,

Seeing a deserted hall, creeping out deeper,

Into the shrouded gallery, pushing through the shackles

Held firmly, around my entire person, hindering

The way forward, oozing through, to the next car,

Finding a place, to cleanse the black eye,

I get in, and immediately lock the door

And just stare, at myself in reflection, and I’m unrecognizable,

Who is this before me, possessing my heart,

That seems to be moribund, pale, faced with horror

Spilled upon myself, unable to wash it all away,

A knock upon the door, but I cannot find my voice,

The handle rattles, as the knocking continues,

Getting louder, deafening within the stall

As I feel my blood, a fury cooking up to my pulsating mind,

And then it ceases, releases its fist from my throat,

But then I see myself again, pooled in more death,

With the body next to me, with the knife I firmly held

Now driven into a man’s skull, with fear frozen,

My expression is vacant, drugged into a lost fervor,

I make a discovery, hidden within my breast pocket

As I retrieve a wallet, alien to me, also stained,

Inside it I find the owners image, and I recognize

The face, in a flash I see myself boarding

And into my vision, this man appears with a smile,

Introduces himself with a hand upon my shoulder

Guiding me to his quarters, where he rips into my head,

Diving into the recesses of repression, and discovers

My hidden desires, my anger, my violence,

And brings it back to life, I am not I no longer,

And I come back from the cloaked memory,

Studying the sight of me, my eyes, fingers and lips,

Are those other than I, I am now a person of death,

A walking scythe, alluding the fear I once cowered under.

Amongst the Living

She slips into the veil, picking out her outfit

Carefully, peering out from behind her mask

Taking in sight of her facade, her entrapment,

To lure the already damned, into the dismay,

The devil, finding the crooked outstretched hand

Searching for a glimpse of light in the stormy alley,

But only she bears shelter for them, inviting

Them out from the oppressive rain, and into the orchestra,

All the lost souls, sitting with their errors as the score,

The hum of the emptiness spotlights over their heads,

The devil peeks out, standing amongst the living,

Tapped the batton, for attention, and forced their scream,

Salivating, at the release of their fear, into the air,

She feeds on those floating orbs, absorbing

Their strength, sucking them all dry to ash,

Wisked away, with a gust of her whisper…

“You’ve been emptied”

And all those, who once were, shattered apart

Sprinkling through the depths of a continued fear,

While she, the devil, continues amongst the living,

Soaking, in the middle of the soon to be lost

On the ballroom dance floor, in front of the full orchestra.

The Eternal Wasteland

Have I reached, the end of the abyss?

Thick, dry humid air, as if I’ve decended

To the highest low point, swallowing it’s pungent breath,

All that once was, has been depleted, spilling sand

Through broken fingers, and watching it weather away,

I dredge my mind, only to unearth the insipid spider,

Feeding off the random streaks of light, snuffed

Into the outer limits, beyond what I can consume,

There is no death, only the stale walk

Around the repetitive process, which melts my strength

And locks me, into a sinking standstill peering

Into the void, leaving behind the evacuation,

Even as I hear the fire, cracking in the distance,

Separating will, from defeat, it becomes an added strain

To the constant emphatic emptiness, dawning

Doubt, feeding it my own thoughts, that expand its stretch,

My mind bears it’s incompetence, through the stutter

Of my empty page because my hand won’t move

The eager pen gracing the openness, that haunts me,

The way forward seems so daunting, all because the horizon

Has been lost to me, for all there is, stews in this wasteland,

So is this the end?

Have I done all that I can?

I fear for my mind, that’ll go mad from wondering

Inside its own den, stuck within the familiar landscape,

Bricked up under the shadows that creep from the past,

Am I doomed to this Purgatory, awaiting no end,

For all that I once held tight, is now flickering

Way beyond the rattle of the gate, and I, a spectator

To life continuing around me, suffering from

The dread of the foreboding, which overpowers hope,

Existence of any inclination of an escape,

Back into the spirited, slips past me and into that terror

I can’t camouflage from, the wasteland is my open casket,

Laying my mind deeper into the murky world,

Nothing left to say,

Nothing left to inscribe,

I’ve told all my stories,

Until I reach this world’s end.

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.

Deceit

Do you trust the parrot in the cage as it mocks

Your own lie, staging tall over you 

Is the quaking flap of its wing, deconstructing 

The tower from which you dove out from, 

You’re possessed by the Ivory, shimmering

In your dull eye, a fool’s blunder that repeats

Door to door, and alliance with the covert,

Unsheathing the retreat from the light,

Cowering back, into disguises you’ve adopted,

Nurturing it, as you fade out into the common 

Trickle, from a tarnished sink above the waste,

Forgotten as soon as it’s polish went insipid,

Darkness in the midst of self realization,

Overlooked, because your focus is latched

Back to that Ivory tower, and the parrot

Mocking you while singing, embracing 

The stench, exuded by your own ignorance,

Death is the only way out, you’re in too deep,

Suffocating in the snake’s gullet, enamored

By the surface glisten of  your purchased life,

Stripped down naked, do you even know 

Who you are anymore? 

Master of Monsters 

The boy places himself in front of the portal

With a small burlap sack, containing stolen scraps 

Of dwelling fear, held locked past sight of clothes 

Scurriedly hung amongst forgotten toys, 

Is a prison for those, no one else would dare

Capture, for they lay awaiting the sting of his voice

While holding a piece of them, pressing into his palm

Repeating  their name, to come forward from darkness,

A slave to his calling, obliterating sense and sensibility 

As these beasts must obey beyond their engravings,

A vigil for their once most sacred possession, their custom,

With a shrapnel of hoof, he swallows the name, 

Ekimmu! Softly said to himself in huddled light 

But it’s an eruption within the beasts torn apart mind, 

Its eyes became a pale vacancy, as it was triggered

By the distant call from the boy, sitting there still

Speaking now, directly to this overshadowing Beast,

Expressing desire for revenge to be taken upon another,

A broken down, once innocent boy, ordering monsters

To bring forth a fear, dormant in us all until awoken

By the terror that only these creatures can evoke, 

A shadow, cast overhead, perched on the shoulders

Of the fearful, stalked by possibility of return,

For fear, is presented in the absence of cognition,

Yet, the boy frozen in trance holds this weapon 

To use against those inside the gathered crowd,

A band of human monsters, the vultures of the playground, 

Taunt the boy, as his heart thumps through his own halls

Growing louder with every squawk thrown 

At the nervous boy, shaking from the overcast,

Hanging like a noose, with nowhere else to disappear to,

He keeps getting beaten, into himself, shrinking 

To the absorbing ground, his bones picked dry

By the carnivorous hellions, at ease with their sin, 

Drugging through the shame in his fresh bruises

He carefully enters his home, to not wake the snoring giant,

Finally clicks the door locked, he’s safe now,

No one can harm him, or trip him into a never ending fall,

He can be amongst himself, without any fear, until

The night takes over the room, and no light can intrude,

Shadows dance along the walls of his room, as he covers

Under his blanket, hiding from fear peeking in,

The closet door knocks, once, twice, louder and louder

Impatiently waiting for the boy to pry open past fright,

The knocking envelopes the boy and runs to the door

Flings it open to unveil, no one, darkness amongst

His own inanimate possessions, slightly wavering, 

Entranced in confusion, not noticing the rising shadow

Towering over him, reaching out to awaken him,

As a feathered touch, spins the boy to see before him

A ferocious monster, that seems to be smiling at him, 

Still, fear burst inside as the boy fell into the closet 

Fumbling for the doorknob, which the beast firmly held,

A single finger against pursed lips, trying to ease him,

As the creature speaks,

“Hello young one, my name is Ekimmu,

I come from beyond your portal

Where I roam with other like me,

We are Fear, protectors of scares this world,

You, my young boy, have too much fear,

And have been voted to receive a guardian.”

The creature takes out a burlap sack, and picks

A piece representing his chosen guardian, 

A fragment of a sharp tooth, 

“Here, a totem of fear to call your guardian

That will ward off your swarming dread,

All you need to do, is hold the totem 

And whisper his name, Rangboon.”

The boy holds the totem, studying the shape

And then finds the burlap sack, being placed 

Back into Ekimmu’s low hanging pocket,

The boy speaks,

“I need more than one guardian,

I have numerous enemies that attack me

Who deserve to be scared away.”

“But young one, this guardian is to protect 

By scaring those who bully the fearfilled ones,

Like you, full of fear and no haven,

Your guardian will only scare enough,

We monsters do not over scare, we regulate

Fear forced into this world, silent guardians

Until we need to be seen, to scare terror,

You will find your ease now, 

Trust your guardian.”

Ekimmu hugs the boy, and vanishes into the closet,

The boy sits in front of the portal, with the stolen sack,

Pick pocketed from the unsuspecting beast,

He calls Ekimmu back, along with his guardian Rangboon,

With the possession of the burlap sack, the boy has control 

Over all the monsters, forcing more out from hiding,

To follow, to steal restful breath from those unknown

In the realm of fear, dragged down into their own suffering, 

Four monsters in four different rooms, perched above

Four different beds, with eyes piercing red 

Each monster’s vision becomes the boy’s, 

Watching the fear overcome, the vultures become prey,

As the boy becomes the master of monsters, of Fear.

Spectacle 

They take their seats, waiting for the curtain 

To be pulled apart, to display their emptiness, 

Fixated, on the footsteps coming towards them

Occupying every hollow vacancy of the theater 

As the hum of anticipation follows, growing,

Congesting every row, eager for the blind to see

What they’ve packed into for, the spectacle, 

They’ve all heard from others, how marvelous 

Their experience was, a must see sensation,

They crowed over it, to again be the audience, 

In the midst of the slow decline of light, 

Fighting back their excitement, the stage

Starts to bear the standing spectacle, an error 

Of life, forced out into desolation, humiliated 

Night after night, for the brimming playhouse, 

The erect mush of torn rags and dirt smudges

Captivates, as a roar of laughter from the over 

Privileged ones that waste the high tide

Picking apart the staged impoverished fool, 

But who really sits within the puppet box,

Obedient to a hidden beggar, a crook of crooks, 

Toppling the towers from which they gawk 

At the overwhelmed spectacle, deceiving them,

Crippling their cannibalistic nature, lighting

The still spectacle, showing off it’s destitute 

To the roaring crowd, burying themselves in sin

Night after night, making the show a gratification 

That has astounded the upper streets, in turn

Making the poor spectacle, the biggest success. 

Battle Inside

Deep in the seclusion of this forest, lives a boy

And his demon wolf, defending what bonded them

In the inception of light under the lavish canopy

That shields the boy from the harmful spirited,

Until recently, when they have invaded the forest, 

Distorting the peace kept by the spread fable 

Of the haunting by this boy and his demon wolf,

As individual torches, the spirited, illuminates 

The forgotten darkness, cascading forth 

An avalanche of unwanted attention from the outside,

As these innocent looking spirits and their carnivorous

Intentions to breach light in through the eternal eclipse

That has been fought to stay intact by the branches

The boy and his demon wolf sleep under, 

But what spirit stays to itself, that dares not 

Tip the balance to the outside of insanity’s gates, 

So they clash beneath the melting fortress,

Disintegrating stem of suppressed serenity

With every strike upon the boy and his demon wolf, 

More invaders join the thundering collision 

Drying out every river slithering over every conformed 

Foundation stone of this dying hideout, running 

Away deeper into the black forest, enchanted 

By a need to forget, dream and imagine 

That the vivid reality doesn’t exist. 

©DorianPoe2016