animiculum, a poem

Black, opaque, formless
the size of an apple
or even a flea
border blurred
here and there
now and then
it moves
thick stubby fingers
protruding out
slowly it goes
slowly it grows.

It’ll find you and hold you
under the blankets as you sleep
or in your sock as you slip it on;
you’ll barely feel a thing
until it is too late
and your neighbors will wonder
while your friends be appalled
at what’s come of you late.

Small matte-black opals
abnormally cold to touch
still in contact
with that great beast of old
way up toward the north
frozen out there in the waste.

Your heat and life’s essences
and any good you’ve got left
they’ll feed it aplenty
as they wait for that day
when struggle by struggle
and crack by crack
that ancient black ice is shattered
and that old beast of hell
rises once more.

– matt at shadow of iris

time stands still, a poem

Time stands still
and the dream extends itself
as they come for you.

Decorated anonymity
beings that offer only pleasure
and annihilation.

Feathered and adorned
masters of their art
a perfect form
that burns within
and reaches out with a touch
that bleeds ancient magic.

Every fiber of your body
is a string they pull upon
as closer and closer
they drag you
to a sweet and lewd

– matt at shadow of iris

the clangor of the chain, a poem

The clangor of the chain
with the flaps
of a thousand black birds
clawing and screeching.

He fought them back
but the burden was heavy,
the curtain of the night
a final weight
that crushed him down.

Now the moon shines
on his torn visage;
all that remains
of eternal memories
that still leak
into older worlds.

– matt at shadow of iris