This is another experiment. Recently I have been devouring Lovecraft stories with a passion. On a creative level, I am usually influenced by all that surrounds me, in terms of technique, as well as topic; it may be quite possible that a small fragment of his style may have rubbed off on me.
Hope you can see past that.
“Footsteps of a Dabbler”
In blackened shrouds of early morn,
Through shimmering shadows and stars,
Atop the hill, a house forlorn,
Weeping, bleeding light and memoirs .
Whispers of guilt rise and disperse
From the footsteps left in snow;
A crimson cold trembling curse
Surounds the track of unholy glow.
To shed a light A Man once sought,
To glance beyond that towering door
And see his ancient blood unclot
And pour upon regrets of yore.
Armed to teeth with angst and fear,
The Man dared enter that place;
Engulfed by darkness, vainly he peered
Through the dust-covered filth and waste.
From the walls, a whisper echoed
Through the halls of that broken manor,
Evolving quickly to a bellow,
Thundering, but left unanswered.
The Man stood still and ghastly uttered –
“You must be The Other One!”
“Must I?” – the voice did snicker
And silence culled the midnight sun.
They both left the house with haste,
Cackling, crying, writhing in pain.
Two men left the house that day,
But only one mark of pace remains.