Portrait of the Artist as a Man
October 25, 2015

An Approaching Lullaby

I never rhyme or write in verse and meter. So, here’s all of it all at once to make up for all the years of not writing them but for class.

An Approaching Lullaby

Daylight sets the skies to burning
and his metal alarms all blaring
which jostles him to out of slumber.

In that moment between dreaming,
waking, laughing, and of being
he hears a whisper deep and dreary from the void.

Eyes now open to the dawning
In his ears an echoed howling
that was wont to land upon his ear.

From the void that was speaking
of the safety in the darkness willing
to embrace him like his lovely bed.

Rising for his daily brushing
not just his own teeth he’s viewing,
like there’s gaping fangs behind him too.

With blurry vision sharply turning
spying but a phantom’s vaporizing,
he dresses, eats, and leaves for work.

Through the day still working
a creeping specter arm is curling
about his rigid, meager, neck.

A tiny voice, sweet and lilting,
softly crooning in ears now perking,
clear and sweet and deathly little notions.

Come to me my precious being
To the succor ye are seeking
and I’ll love of you ever more.”

O! Love and safety truly wanting
so true our bonds fully forming
he is rapt in that blinding instant.

Firmly he presses fingers downing
breaking keys beneath his frowning
resolute in decisions wholly made.

Back his chair he is rolling,
a violent speed he is growing,
toward plate glass portals to the noon.

Smile unfurling; wild eyes searching,
smashing through the windows hooting
he yawps a caustic holler of success.

Through the air he’s escapinging
air and cloud and sun so clearing
that he looks for awaiting hands to grasp.

Only sky and cool winds wailing
past his ears no longer hearing
nought but the ground whistling nearer.

Where is the voice so soothing
that it drew him to this loosing?
What has happened of my trueform love?”

So certain, now, of the slighting
by his blinded carnal yearning
of a dark and sweetly love abound.
Only a final approaching lullaby he’s found.

I’ve had Lovecraft on the mind. Have you ever read his poetry?


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