9. H. P. Lovecraft's Dream
(Acrostic)

I have seen the dark universe yawning
   Where the black planets roll without aim,
Where they roll in their horror unheeded,
   Without knowledge, or lustre, or name.

―H. P. Lovecraft,
"Nemesis"

1

I know it's out there, lurking in the darkness,

Hiding in tombs of endless night and silence
Along dark rivers from forgotten eras;
Vast are the realms of outer darkness there,
Enveloping this earthly plane we live on.

Suppose (should you allow for suppositions)
Entire domains and kingdoms of existence
Entering through the misty veil of dreams and
Nightmares and through the corners of our minds.

There lies in distant wastes beyond our dreams
Humongous vistas where great Azathoth,
Enchanted still to sleep by flutes and drums,

Dreams on in muttering such gibberish
As no one (still alive or dead) can fathom,
Remaining there an Imbecile of All,
Knowing of nothing that his mind creates.

Under no circumstance shall I tell all,
Nor mention all the awful things I saw
Inside the fringes of those Halls of Dread.
Verily will I say to you that these
Enchanted and horrendous things I saw
Require a strength of mind to comprehend,
Since neophytes like you have gone insane,
Endangering their plastic minds as much as

Yours. So in mercy to yourself and to
All other listeners who hear you speak these
Wonders I am to tell, I must reveal
Nothing that would endanger both of us;
In no way else will I reveal these wonders,
Not that these very words fill me with worry:
Give me some time to figure out this story.

2

When I was seventeen, I used to see
Half-glimpses through the veil of lucid dreams,
Entering vast and dim-lit hallways through a
Reclusive door I often chanced to find
Either by luck or evil circumstance.

The halls were dark, half-flooded, doorless yet
Had once connected to a stately palace
Ere some destruction left it in this state.

But as I groped along the corridors,
Losing myself along the wandering bowels,
A sudden spell of sudden trepidation
Creeps through my heart with icy fingers from
Kadath that beckons me along this way.

Perhaps that pensive place of eldritch lore,
Long-fabled in hushed tones, attracts and leads
Astray unfortunates like me to other
Nebulous realms too wide and strange to grasp.
Entering yet another unknown part of
The winding halls, I find a row of doors
Standing on either side against the walls.

Rows upon rows of lighted doors that stretch
Onwards into the shadows, all of them
Leaving a subtle chill of doubt within the
Lake of my heart. So past these ghastly doors I

Walk on in search of that one door that only
I can open with the only key I have,
Tucked away in my pocket as I tread.
Here then I walk and walk and walk in haste,
Only to spare the briefest looks behind,
Unsure if something's there lurking in darkness,
There beyond the shadow, past the wall of sight.

Another chill runs up my weary spine, and
I now run with all the haste of coming doom,
Making my way along this horrid tomb!

3

What chthonic blasphemies pursue my steps *
Here in these flooded corridors of ruin?
Each stab pulsating through my weary heart
Reveals entire denominations of
Exquisite terrors ravaging my soul.

There's something in the human soul, a candle
Haunting the sepulchers that form our bodies.
Enter a place of darkness, there you'll find
Yourself the moving target of the ghouls

Roaming the halls of human fear wherein
Only those brave or foolish wanderers,
Led on by some fixation, find themselves.
Letting these thoughts subside, I recollect

In my studies on the ancient Occident **
Nothing of worth, except perhaps the fact

That in the smaller hours of morning, I
Have come across these hallways in my studies.
Even the briefest episodes have left
In the lake of my heart the slightest of
Ripples as though some foreign entity

Has come to wade within the fearful waters.
Over the slosh of wading legs, a whisper
Resounds before me far into the darkness,
Repeating notes in dissonant and eldritch
Overtures that madden out my senses,
Repeating like a ghostly gramophone.

Uncanny are the terrors of the heart;
Noxious are all the fumes of pungent waters;
Hideous are the sounds that haunt the blind;
Erratic are the whims of the looming fate;
Exquisite are the stabs of sudden panic
Drowning the heart and mind with fearful things;
Eerie is this dizzy atmosphere of doom;
Damned are the souls entrapped inside this tomb!

4

Where is the door that leads outside to safety?
I could not fathom, though I wade and plod
Through countless gallons of stagnating water;
How endless seem the rows of doors unopened,
Opening to horrendous options all!
Under the spell of this anticipation,
There comes the sudden stab of awful doubt

Keeping my wading strides from moving on.
Neither moving nor retreating, imagine
Out of the darkness some great bulk of flesh
Wheezing through breathing holes of mucus-slime,
Letting out the noxious fumes of wet decay.
Enveloped in the stench, I wheel about
Determining to flee the horrid thing.
Getting a good head start, I flee the scene,
Exciting that foul-smelling thing awake!

Onward I run in haste and hear its rasp and
Roar, almost metallic in intensity.

Let God expunge the horrors of my flight!
Under the strain of wading through the water,
Something foul and sticky wraps its length around
The middle of my waste and has me
Ripped apart, my guts spilled on the water where
Echo my screams, before I woke up screaming.

Only God knows how I escaped its grasp,
Reminding me of every stench I smell.

Now that you know the horrors of my dream,
Arise and see the bloodstains on my shirt.
My guts have yet to heal, and yet I live,
Enslaved in death while I remain alive!

(To be continued...)

A/N: Written on September 2016. This poem is a fictionalized account of one of H. P. Lovecraft's purported dreams, doubtlessly inspired by his Cthulhu mythos, specifically his Dream Cycle. I tend to learn a little more towards his Dream Cycle than the rest of his Cthulhu mythos because of my natural affinity for recording dreams in my dream journal. I'm not sure about Lovecraft, but as you can see from my previous poems, "The Smiling Man," "Twisted Love Story" and "Hospital of Dreams," the hallway motif pops up in my dreams for some reason. Also, even though I used a real historical personage in this poem, I use his character fictitiously, so don't sue me, please!

* Chthonic = (adj.) Greek: of the underworld.
** Occident = (n.) Latin: the West.