Witch Totem

I once dreamed of a forest,
A place I was drawn to wander,
There was a sweet perfume of witchcraft,
A fantasy,
Or a nightmare,
It was hard to tell,

Ghostly groves,
And dead branches charred by mana,
A godless arboretum,
A land bereft of deities,
Even the sun seemed timid,
Overcast through the gnarled boughs,

A witch resides here,
Or so i’ve heard,
And I believe the tales,
I spy her totems,
Omens to intruders like me,
Mandrake and hemlock,

Bones of vermin,
And dead sticks,
Affixed with aged catgut,
Into a crooked symbol,
Icons of her sorcery,
They hum with ancient words,

The sun flees,
The trees grow silent,
The atmosphere closes ranks,
I felt a cold hand on my shoulder,
And gelid breath upon my ear.

Doom Ballad

Do you hear the drums?
As the stars fall,
Tracing streaks into the blue,
Pounding down with hate and conviction,
The skies and earth ignite in concert,

A symphony of our end,
Percussive beats of destruction,
Brassy cracks of red lightning,
The choirs of agonised wailing join in,
The woodwinds of lives ending,

I know not what crime the globe is convicted,
But I see the sentence,
An astral genocide,
It approaches,
Wreathed in fire and stardust,

Pluto smirks.

Romantic Mute

Despite my unseemly form,
Writhing with inadequacies,
I was once a romantic at heart,
A passionate bard,
Singing the praises of my loves,
Seeing the light in the dark,

But it wasn’t to last,
One night was a turntable,
You came to me,
A snide succubus,
A bloody mary,
Lashing flames of erotic venom,

You meant only ill,
Your words brought me a stinging sensation,
As if needles pierced my lips,
Sewing my mouth shut,
You rendered me mute,
Voiceless,

After that hellish night,
My tongue shall never again utter romance,
I speak only with these inked words,
I’d need a scalpel,
To return my joy,
A glasgow smile of sorts,

Truth be told though,
It’s not worth severing these threads.

Beast

One must hunt,
Kill to live,

On all fours,
Sniffing,
Snarling,
Baying for blood and gore,
All saliva and pheromones,

I must kill,
To feed on fur and tissue,
To sate the maw within,
The forest fires take over,
A hellish descent,

Through the grim mist,
I catch that scent,
A bouquet of optimism and sun,
Of autumn and seasoned venison,
A life to be cut short,

I see crimson,

The doe falls easily,
Hamstrung and gutted,
Formally so full of bounce and life,
Her eyes become as the void,
A rattling mirror of dark,

The bloody form contorts,
A doe no longer,
Prey no more,
But a murder,
My humanity torn.

Kabuto

When the dark times descend,
And storms of spite form,
One must protect oneself,
So I put on my kabuto,
Crimson like blood pumping,
Crimson like pride,

It is armour,
A guard of the soul,
Of lacquered wood,
Iron plates,
To defend this anima,
The spirit of the artist,

This mengu,
This mask,
The face of the oni,
A visage of destruction,
But also honour,
Strength of spirit,

Detracting mosquitoes swarm,
Their critical barbs primed,
So I take my stance,
Sanguine blade ready,
Kabuto O Nugu?
I shall never surrender.

Davey Oldbones

Ever heard of Davey Oldbones?
An emaciated killer for hire,
A bounty hunter without peer,
His true name lost to the winds,
He stalks the fringes of society,
Of numberless dimensions,

A revenant,
A harbinger of the end,
He knows no mercy,
His heart and flesh rotted decades ago,
Humanity purged from his bones,
Simply an instrument of Lady Death,

Doom comes in style,
Clad in obsidian trenchcoat,
With blood-red trimmings,
Haggard face hidden behind a gasmask,
Emotions shielded from view,
And adorned with a regal top hat,

So feel free to flee,
When you hear the rasping breath,
And his skeletal hand upon your shoulder,
You will know fear,
And soon thereafter,
You will know the dark.

Arcadia

Beware the Fae,
The gentry of Arcadia,
The red queens and lords of the hunt,
Beings of glamour and madness,
They long for new playthings,

They’ll take you,
The Others,
Kicking and screaming,
Through the labyrinthine paths of thorns,
To their twisted wonderlands,

The emerald thorns,
Of the supernal hedge,
They’ll tear you up body and spirit,
You’ll be unrecognisable,
A changeling,

Your life will be ousted by another,
A simulacrum of your form,
A perfect fetch,
Nobody will know you’ve been taken,
Nobody shall even miss you,

A fairyland of wyrd,
A realm of hobgoblins and trolls,
Pixies and elementals,
Memories will become as dreams,
Are you still yourself?

Will you remember who you were?
Will you escape?
Claw your way back through the hedge,
Collapse finally in the world you were born,
A world you no longer belong in,

But remember,
Faeries are spiteful things,
Who’s to say they won’t come looking?
Nobody likes losing a toy after all.

Leaves

I sit here in this bountiful garden,
Passing the summer hours,
Gazing over the various arbors,
That stand guard at the perimeter,
In their viridian dress coats,

They are true fountains of life,
Green with envy,
At our freedom,
Though we should be jealous,
Of their eternal dignity,

The leaves,
They splay out in the sun,
Like angels wings,
With a more tangible divinity,
Laying bare mother nature’s selflessness,

The autumnal browns arrive,
The leaves succumb,
A vision of entropy,
But cast a blanket of rejuvenation,
For the thirsty earth,

The winds twist through the branches,
Imparting a sacred message,
For all of humanity,
Be as the leaves,
Love your earth.

Nocturnal

I’m a nocturnal beast,
I adore the night,
I live for the night,
To gaze longingly at her lightless form,
The comely orb of the moon,

To many the night is chilling,
But to me it is solace,
A zen-like plane of existence,
What is anathema to some,
Is sedative to my soul,

With Lady Luna,
And the beautiful dark,
Elegantly coming together,
In a wondrous fantasia,
Of light and shadow,

We practice our waltz nightly,
Within a ballroom of stars,
Completely alone,
Embracing,
But only in my minds eye,

To many the night is frightful,
But to me it is eden.

Sculptor Of Fears

Do you ever feel nightmares are handmade?
A cruel intelligence behind them,
A sculptor of fears,
Tied to our minds like a parasite,
Cognizant of our weaknesses,
Finding joy in our panic,

Horrifically creative,
And wickedly persistent,
Our sculptor fashions every horror,
Under the red moon,
I see them,
In my throes,

Spectres of all styles,
Screaming and weeping,
A leap of death,
You can’t avoid,
A tide of necrotic flesh,
Gnashing fangs and claws,

An endless watery abyss,
That holds myriad evils,
An unravelling yarn,
Rippling like a beating heart,
A terrible dark shape,
Blades following you through the halls,

I awaken a pitiable thing,
My veins become cascades of ice,
Have I escaped?
Please wake me,
Drag me from this thing,
This sculptor of fears.