ElleShaped

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Tag Archives: Poem

The Unheard Eulogy Of The Stone

13 Monday Apr 2015

Posted by EBannion in Musings

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Poem, Real Life

Born from the embers of ancient dead stars
And shaped by the roiling youth of our sphere
Your edges were rough and your shape was untooled
Your creator the endless and natural law

Your birth-herald: anguishing cracking of rock
And the shattering cleaving of your mother shale
The wrenching, the roaring, the shivering earth
You were cast out on the high, lifeless shore

You were, and you watched, and the heavens spun on
No thinking, no wanting, no needing, no pain
Nor moved nor aroused by breeze or by gale
Your heartbeat, the eons that came and then went

When a sudden miraculous swirl then unfurled
Your timeless eyes dazzled, it burst out from nothing
It flooded your world and it flowed and it changed
Inconstant, ineffable, changing, bizarre

Blooming, then with’ring, then rising again
Its shapes inconceiveable to your solid mind
First specks, and then patches, then suddenly, roots
They, your first teachers of wounding and pain

Small fissures, a few chips, a weathering rut
Water flowed over and gnawed at your flesh
Then covered, engulfed, and shrouded in green
Around you, your brethren ground into sand

But you, you had fortune’s compassionate light:
The earth groaned and buckled and carried you high
So swiftly, so slowly, a mountain arose
And you were its capstone, its heavenly heart

But then, after ages! Your body, invaded!
So high were you pressed that the air became chill
Those precious few drops which had slithered inside you
They froze, they expanded, the agony grew

Then rending and killing it forced you apart
First one crack, then dozens, shards flaking away
Where you once had towered, a unified whole,
Now fractured and broken you cowered and fell

’till there was nothing to marker your tomb
No token remembered, no heart there aggrieved
Your glory once perfect now crushed and brought low
With nary a witness, and no one to mourn

Goodnight, Cthulhu

18 Saturday May 2013

Posted by EBannion in The Butterfly Experiment

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Cthulhu, Parody, Poem, The Butterfly Experiment

I present, without further ado, a poem inspired by a Cthulhu pie and the desire to… improve… 18th century nursery rhymes.

Sing a song of madness,
An Old One never dies.
Four and twenty Shoggoths
Baked in a pie.

When the pie burst open,
The guests began to scream.
Wasn’t that a wicked dish,
To complete Dagon’s scheme?

Lord Cthulhu sleeps in R’leyh,
And sees us in our dreams;
Nyarlathotep babbles in the dark,
And feeds upon our screams.

The cliff-ghasts now are flying free,
Hunting for fresh meat;
And if they catch you dreaming,
Your doom will be complete.

There’s Always Another Half

25 Thursday Oct 2012

Posted by EBannion in The Butterfly Experiment

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Anna Morgan, Poem, The Butterfly Experiment

Soft wings brush

A sleeping mind, a soft target

A  soothing caress, the lightness of hope.

Ice melts into a warm summer pool, and she floats.

Solace for a tired mind, protecting all, unknown to herself.

Ice grips her body. Cruel talons replace the soft wings, or always were.

Here, at last, an obstacle. She lets go of the false summer and fights.

It’s good to know you have an enemy. It fills her with purpose. Fire surges.

As she purges the horrors she forgets. Her dreams are incinerated.

Fire burns everything, not just the bad. It saps her will.

Morning will not let her die. Sun seeps in,

Erasing memories but leaving her

Rage, and pain, and fear.

The Next Experiment

14 Sunday Oct 2012

Posted by EBannion in The Butterfly Experiment

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Anna Morgan, Poem, The Butterfly Experiment

Anna sleeps uneasily.

Dreams trouble her with chaos.

Pain and fire, engulfing all she knows.

Darkness and ice, draining life from her world.

She dreams this every night, but she cannot remember.

Cassandra’s fate was kinder, to see your everything burning

And to be powerless to stop it, unheeded and ignored, no one to fight.

Anna sees her loves and hates and her beginnings and endings

Swept away, unfeelingly replaced and cruelly supplanted.

And then morning’s light strips the memories

But leaves the terror and the pain.

Something is coming.

The end?

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