Hi folks. I won’t take too much of your time. But I wrote a poem and now you can read it.
In Carcosa;
Lamentia & Dolores swept calmly to the sea;
The witches laughed and played their games
In subtle harmony
While black stars rose and islands sank
Demurely neath the waves,
Idols cracked and locals wept,
Beneath the Stygian graves.
What LO, said one, unto the other,
A stranger does approach.
They laugh and smile and take his hand,
And palm a tiny broach.
The stranger did not smile back,
His face a rictus torn;
The angels smiled and askéd back,
Why be so ever worn?
The eyes, they rise, and dimly catch
Of silent setting sun
His cheeks are stretched and tattered,
His skin a hollow dun
For forty years he stalked these shores,
Or so his story went
Til youth was gone and mind was worn
The mind once straight was bent.
In love he was, but love was lost
His story rambled on;
Until the witching coven bored
And man had to be gone.
They guide him down to moonlit rows
And into chilly catacombs
Before the earthen blacklit mire,
And showed him fruits that they conspired.
“This now,” they cried, “shall be your tomb,
“Your endless and unrented room,”
And back they went to moonlit shore
Leaving behind their captured ward.
They say he stays there unto now,
And on the witching hours
The sisters can collude at last,
Returned to all their powers.
Young fellow, go not out at night
When goats do rut in pallid light,
Or far from fall-tide’s hellish fire
Far from the shouts of priest and crier
For down amongst those moonlit glades,
The sisters sing the Hyadës,
And tempt the yeomen to their doom
Far underneath the harvest moon.