Curious, how real it seems.
It knows the nature of its surroundings,
the place-between-places,
borderlands of Manifest and Un-.
Still, its eyes describe a horizon at twilight,
thin graphite-line dividing gray from grey,
aglow in monochromatic splendor with the death-plummet
of an empty black orb agleam with colorless radiation
percolating strangely through the endless eternal wraith-fogs
as if some blind God had set a perfect black pearl in the sky.
It knows its native land --
and indeed, its own self to a lesser degree
-- are, at best, quasi-manifest,
yet do not vibrate atomically as do the Unmanifest,
and therefore are, at best,
quasi-real.
It knows that, to the Manifest,
the place-between-places does not exist,
never perceived by those who know the way
of changing their atomic vibration so as to
Manifest
and
Unmanifest
at will.
Perhaps this is the source of the hunger
(unbearable dull, subtle, gnawing void!)
(unacceptable!)
which even now drives it
to crouch, away from its pack-sibs,
within a clot of writhing
Comments
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brilliant
to take a common subject
inject uncommon words
that magically coalesce
and sound so smooth
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Common subject? What did this seem to be about to you? I'm trying to figure out if this topic has been broached more often than I realize, or if I horribly failed to communicate within the poem itself.
Also, it's not even halfway done. It ends in the middle of a stanza. Thanks for commenting anyhow tho'.
GUH forgot to log out of my partner's account. Sorry. -
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I kinda thought it was a bout love... lol
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Hmmm. The ending is really catching and leaves the poem in a nice way.
I've not read enough Lovecraft to really catch much of what you had in mind here, so that part of it I can't say much to.
Let's talk about this some time, you can explain it more to me. Then I can help you come up with more/ drive it to be finished.
Om shanti/ om shakti.
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