Welcome back! It’s been a while, I know, but I’ve a lengthier piece of work to share with you all as a result of that considerably strange hiatus.
I thought I’d somewhat oxymoronically name the story “untitled” as well as “Solicitus”. The former is Latin and means restless. It’s a nominative case which is used here appropriately to describe the subject and the tense of the piece.
It also–somewhat ironically–describes my ceaseless nature at the moment.
This one ventures more into an insane Poe-esque descent and as such is more macabre in nature than what I’ve previously been sending out. Again, this is raw and unrefined–I mean that in the process, the creation, and the state as it appears here.
Enjoy.
Solicitus
There was a thing that I once knew
whose face was seen by barely few
I looked around within my house
afar, beyond the city walls.
In that place of grizzled cold
I met it there on quaint affair
One lonely night not far from blind
it stood before me with haggard chimes
I thought myself, “I must, I must. . .”
before I sat and coughed and slush’d
The dripping life from my mouth onto the fire
that searing hearth with endless rasp
The grinding crackle dazzled me
scalded my ears and wailed, far-reaching
Who was this hag who stood before me in my room?
I crawled and sat down on the rough of
a now gone cat whose back was wickedly soft and black
So real I thought it, but as I looked it moved with flow,
the seat was animated and possessed.
She came up close again, right near;
I felt her dress
and the scent of her
was of dark veneer.
I thought again, “I must, I must. . .”
wed myself amongst her truss.
That rich depth beyond her blouse,
translucent but like the darkest clouds.
She sat before me and I knew
as she hammered down the needled
stumps, scaled and battered but was unmoved.
All fingers that grew from her palms
were adorned
with magic things all brittle with runes.
Talons to cut throw bone and chew sinew
and at that I knew my hour was nearly due.
But her intentions were quite from that, or least it seemed
Had my imagination become unclean?
Was she a young woman or vitreous phantom?
What of an unknown figure in my house?
What fate was for me to find and know?
Would I make it to meet tomorrow?
Just then the lengthy curls unmasked from the veil
and from the dome a white-stained crescent
was apparent from her forehead
That almighty glow held omnipresence
A young woman born of ash.
Opened her mouth and hailed and audible rash
The maddening laughter in the flames,
screeched like a midnight train
across the mountains and throughout my veins.
Quickening, startled, full of pain,
I fell back from the chair with splintered sprains.
Abound the sealed in air, the cloudy
musk and heavy haze,
she dragged my arm down to her maze.
“My dear, my dear,” she croaked out tauntingly
as I wreathed in awesome agony.
and like a wasp she crushed my wake,
buried me deep in her place of hate.
But scurried I into the closing shape of my mumbled reality,
perplexed and distorted, torn and jabbering.
I caught her hand in the scrambled
but she tore my flesh at the gamble.
her frown ignited as she drew her hand,
signaling doom;
The end of man.
Wax figurines blown from nearby tables
pots and broomstick handles
became my weapons
as I fought on, one-hand-able.
This was my place, and my land to roam.
Taken from me, from this demon krone.
But still, her haunting beauty seared my sight
made me reluctant to end her life.
“I must, I must,” I told myself
and was reassured
the fight was right.
Evermore, the lowly caste bellowed her terrifying sight,
delivered more than her strikes.
Staggered on hard till we bled and all
the floorboards were sauced in a thick, incomprehensible red.
The nightmare had almost broken its back.
But I must . . I must remember what happens next.
That heralds the end of another piece of erratic writing.
Thanks for stopping by!
Peace,
Tom.
His Empty Space 