Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Of Persona

I had to write a poem in the voice of a historical figure. Naturally, I chose H.P. Lovecraft. I wanted to give it some richness and modern relevance by working in some reference to the Rothschilds and their tentacular management of world banking, but couldn't do so without using imagery that was more Christian and European than Lovecraftian. We'll see what we can do in a second draft.

The Dreams of Lovecraft
I have been inflicted
with a succession
of frightful dreams,
most details of
which blessedly escape me
but whose closing haunts
me yet.

My first sensation was
a brazen sky,
molten and roiling,
and under this untenable thing
did I first see
the countenance of unreason.

My surroundings were that
of a ravine,
boulders red and cracked, throbbing as hearts,
and I began
to pick my way among the terrain.

I came to a sickened building,
its columns twisted as of
a creeper,
its portal projecting not
light, but
its own material blackness.

Though its vileness was clear,
my heart soared,
for never before had
my dream forced me through
its penumbra.

But my limbs,
seemingly possessed
of a baleful intelligence,
compelled me ever forward.

Through the darkness
I went, wherein I
felt, with
crawling certainty,
that all blossoming joy
would forevermore be
an unreachable winter's gasp.

The shadow subsided,
and I came to a chamber
lit by the sky
and all memory from now
was poisoned,

For there was a cyclopean beast,
fleshy and viscid,
wreathed as a lion with
grasping, furious tentacles,
their rending hooks a-shudder,
seated on a throne alive
with the writhing
of great worms, thrust
into the earth.

I awoke with
a scream, slick with sweat,
and paramount
in my concern was
this: the nightmare's end
draws ever closer.

No comments:

Post a Comment