Drifting Off: A Lovecraftian Poem by Hana Matušková

03/11/2013 12:12

Photos: Katarína Koreňová

 

As I lie under wet leaves on the forest floor

in my dreams

with the eyes inside (to my real eyes, there are only the leaves,

their damp darkness, like a tomb)

I often see

images

       of images

                   of Them.

Under the sea They lie as I lie

under the leaves.

In great cities with streets that are

impossible.

Angles where angles should not be

in the shape of great, vast, and gently curving

straight lines.

The streets where alien angels slumber.

Dark lights. Dead fish, not floating, on the bottom of the sea

with water weighing them

down.

As I lie under wet leaves on the forest floor

my hands

my fingers

buried in the ground can feel the water

coming from within the earth.

Trying to swallow me whole

and with me

the world

and the stench of rotting fish is all around, suffocating,

and I know:

They have not always been asleep.

There were times when men walked amongst Them.

And though ignorant of most things around,

in our unconscious, by the sight of the eyes inside,

just barely there

but still

you and your loved ones could not be sure

whether

I, you, they

were really who we deemed ourselves to be

and not just

images

       of images

                   of Them.

 

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Date: 08/12/2013

By: entevellaOrek

Subject: FVWQVlpt22



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