7.  A Tribute To Yog Sothoth

even in the tranquil dark
beyond the thumb­d visages of the day
and their complaints of no demise:
safety eludes, now,
from that which plagues me (now only)
remembrances of past freedom & delight
desire under love's command
lurking thoughts of beauty
drifting like the wind.

showing my flattened cheeks & widely eyes
two flames stretch to fill the room
smaller & larger, they brightly dance
for a future, on shades of wax.

nothing could save this moment
from my mournful sacred eyes,
caught in both and catching all
too much to forget --

when what you want is gone,
can we want anything?

enchanted solitude & memory
and forests of placid dreams
cherished by another, younger
standing next to me.

when I once fell from a plastic bike
and then returned to find it gone
my eyes turned inward, bitter shield
something not the first. fucking. time.
i'd ever lurk in there, living in
a hairshirt.

sometime in a spring like this
the fakest spring of fading fall
i fell in love & learned that bliss
covers not vengeful withal.

when digging for my veins of gold
they asked me what I thought of this
if it were me, if I were sane,
my reply could only be
that simple thoughts refreshing once
had formed me in another way
that path destroyed, that countenance
leads me to another sense
that somehow here in this great land
pits of time and death do dwell
leaving forgotten our enchanted hopes
something to sustain us, nothing more
second stage brings sordid thoughts
cynical complaints, and hatless wanderings
then we come to this great door
and left beyond in only minds
bereft we stagger to the frame,
and seek our solitude inside.

		- S.R. Prozak