Phantasmagoric
The sun sets and the sun rises, in this play of bittersweet melancholic.
How faithful these Phantoms, haunting this old, rigid, chapel.
How does life grow in this overgrown tomb?
Candle lit prayers; transcend the forest and this gloom.
See her dark yet fair, this virginal bride.
Interplay of light and shade.
This hero comes charming so Byronic and dangerous to know, he may be demonic.
A stranger with a likeness unlike my own, a twisted mirror my reflection,
this doppelganger.
Is it ironic that this would harm her, a possessed suit of silver armor?
Blood and wine distract the servant’s thimble.
Horrors abound in this lord’s manor.
Does it matter if this is a labyrinth or a maze?
Screams fill this ghastly night, trapped inside the spectre’s gaze.
Her only escape is deaths feign, lacquered in a full-moon, with
a thistle of wolfsbane
A repressed fear is paranoid in this delirious darkness of null and
void.
This awful sense of dread, a grotesque figure, a wretched symbol,
is the worst not over?
Bela Lugosi is dead.
(2013)
Poem for class. trying to give image to a literary genre.
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