Death May Be The King Of Terrors

 

Each brush stroke of a word painter

Smeared bloody crimson red

Seen through eyes that recognise

The things that can’t be touched

Behind accumulated layers of gore

Where shadows are the surface

What is felt is hidden behind

What is seen 

 

So your mind fills in the gaps

gives corporeality to the phantom

even as the scalpel nicks and slices

parts of you that sit in your head

You see through distorted lenses

All the pain and horror crystalised

Into paper sheets and print

The ink smudging like lost dreams

 

The King Of Horror tips a sly wink

And asks you to visit for a while

In his domain and see what he sees

Touch what he touches

Feel what he feels

Doing so from the safety of the real world

And when you leave

You leave your nightmares behind

 

So go back again constant reader

To the place in Maine where horror dwells

Roaming free and unfettered

Let your imagination roam with the master

Hand in hand in dark places

Where he will whisper in your ear

And tell you that despite the words

You may be safe if you believe his Judas tongue

 

Werewolf, vampire, human

All forms of monster here

In Castle Rock and Derry

All roads lead to hell

And there he sits

In his Gothic castle

His bony finger

Beckons you to enter