When I peer down at my hands,
I don’t see weapons of war,
Not banners of a daring artist,
But the shaking hands of a coward,
The tittering claws of a mouse,
In the day I shiver,
I find myself unable to take a step,
Unwilling to advance myself,
The palpitations assault me daily,
I shrink from peering above the precipice,
To take the steps for betterment,
Hoping instead for an easy end,
I am a craven,
Regrettably so,
Not only because I’m afraid to improve,
But also because I won’t end it.
The waves are the embodiment of mystery,
An oblivion of crushing weight and shadow,
More unknown than the dark side of the moon,
Though its wane and wax has a rhythmic aria to it,
The abyss has a song all its own,
A dread tune,
Like tentacles licking at your eardrums,
Distorted static of whalesong,
The crunch of crabshell underfoot,
Its lyrics manifest as thalassophobia,
A warning in the mind,
Sharks teeth and squid beaks upon your nape,
Salt and brine on your tongue,
The knowledge that man is not welcome.
As they say,
The face is a masquerade mask,
And the eyes are windows to the soul,
But windows can be boarded up and blockaded,
And a masks purpose is to deceive,
You never know the intentions within,
The bad aura that permeates its design,
The gentlest smile can hold the most umbrage,
A held stare can be pure amorous obfuscation,
Cordial words can hide poison within,
The back of your skull often suspects something,
A defence mechanism for your peace of mind,
That sixth sense hints at hidden danger,
You’ll wish you had heeded the warnings,
That imperceptible lightning of negativity in the air,
The bad vibes,
Rancor hovering about an angel.
There are those whose eyes are fixed skyward,
Tinfoil uniforms and men of learning both,
Seeing circular conspiracies among distant roman gods,
Metal anomalies in the atmosphere,
Strange lights peeking from behind lady lunar,
They see patterns and smoke in the cosmos,
Little green men dance upon their chests,
Authorities choking them in their sleep,
Are they mad to breathe such perceptions?
Do the stars perceive us in turn?
Whether it is paranoia or prudence,
I cannot decide,
But as the saying goes,
When you peer over long into the void,
It might just be peering back.
On this night of nights,
Something releases a scream amongst screams,
Did you hear it?
That horror of the night,
That shriek of a feminine guise,
That ear splitting cry,
It came from that thing,
That spectral visage over yonder,
With it the eve grows foreboding,
A woman perhaps,
Beautiful yet horrific,
A monster perhaps,
Enticing yet bloodcurdling,
This season attracts such apparitions,
It comes with the territory,
Spectres abound after all,
So I must ask again,
Did you hear it?
As I rise from my crypt,
I feel as if some presence rises with me,
An ethereal force,
Like my dreams have pierced forth from my mind,
Transmogrifying before my sleepy eyes,
Butterflies in every shade,
Once greyscale,
Then shifting to each and every colour in turn,
Phantasms in flight,
Fluttering around the room in lyrical patterns,
The projections grow more maddening,
Hypnotising my cortices,
Spelling out words that seem gibberish,
Images of make-believe realms,
Visual patterns put my brain through a blender,
Was any of this real?
Horror and euphoria and mystique brewed together,
Who knows?
But only the sunrise did quell the mania,
And weld my brain back together again.
The dark has a mind of its own,
The periphery does not lie,
There’s something there,
Exerting its will unseen,
It’s like a shadow person,
It has limbs of pure contorted blackness,
It pinches at your ears and thighs,
Supping upon your rapid heart,
Tentacles against table legs and wall skirts,
Those whispers are very real,
It tries to lead you further in to the night,
Tendrils ushering you onwards,
For nefarious ends perhaps,
Or some other mischief.
The water knows,
It can taste my fear on the salty breeze,
It attacks the shore like a feral beast,
It lash’s at the shore in rancour,
Impotently contesting the land,
Taking chunks with it as prizes,
Time is on its side,
It breathes in,
Saving up for an almighty onslaught,
A tidal wave,
A titanic deluge of foul intent,
A watery mass of coral teeth and blades,
Overpowering the land with weight of fathoms,
They say that the sea is the bearer of life,
But it’s a resolute predator,
All it desires is to consume my flesh.
We are the dregs,
All of us,
Released by the dam of the morn,
Waters of ill repute,
Stagnant and vacuous,
Filled with larvae of future parasites,
We are the dregs,
What remains when worth is gone,
Sloshing along urban waterways,
Swirling past each other,
Watching the floors,
We are not wellsprings,
Providing no essences of life,
Only drowning,
Killing and consuming,
We are the dregs,
Remnants of an elixir of hope,
We are the tsunami,
We are scorched earth,
The azure death of all before us.
WorldofHarley 