Image for the poem More than a Man

More than a Man


I had drinks with the man

Cognac, Port, whisky, Beer,

Though, seeing him in person

He seemed more than a man

Not of his day

But of days,

Where was his star, for it aligned with mine,


Where was his star,

For it is also now in the house of Mendivil and Lovecraft,

His words heavy, as if a tower of stone

Mine, a tower of flesh and bone

Weak, diseased of shadow and cursed of light,

The Raven, Death came for me, Black Cat, Necronomicon, Cask of Amontillado,

I had drinks with Edgar Allen Poe

His vision and foray into the future is uncannily accurate

Precision, a mind of precision in words and animation of thought;

Every year, for 70 years, upon his Birthday

I visit his grave

Glass of Cognac and 3 black roses

And a kiss, for words upon his grave

Make me holy again

Before ever I was born

We were,

Soul brothers

Writers of the Storm

Written down with fire


My minds shadow:

Continue in life, though you want to die

Edgar Allen came to me

Bravest thing is to carry on

And upon taking his blade

And cutting long length down mine arm

My quill now dipped in mine blood

Write, in remote viewing

And travel the planes, among stars and arid places you see


write what future and past, present viewings you see,

For that is my star,


`~Forever more~`

Lovecraft came to me

Not as a tower of Gothic stone,

Prophetic wisdom or master of dark arts,

as is Poe to me,

But as the shadow that grows from the other side

Reciting me,

Cthulhu’s chant,

Beyond the Sea

Where the ancient one lies,

The Dreaming dead,

To strip the earth, and all of mankind

And prepare the way for the Elder Ones,

In Aeons mind,

It waits,

And from there,

Lo’ do I see

In almost a vision,

The Mountains of Madness

Where I must make

Beyond the pass of the Ravens

And the house of Mendivil

Unto the tomb of The wolf

And the keeper of the 13 Gates


It rises, from the grave

I bear witness to all these things

Tines of lightening falling and break from a pitch perfect sky

Darken, red and grey,

Ashen is the face of the wolf

Lightening once again breaks and scars down its face

And the howling voice of its thunder cracks

As it lifts it arms to command

The sleeping dead,

``In wake``

Rise my brethren

And take

Take from the ruling class

What is rightfully ours

All these things have I recorded,

Inked, and dripped from my own blood

Into my sacred text,

My personal Tome

My minds shadow is not my own

```~~~... ... ...~~~```
Written by deadwolf
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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