~ by Charles A. Coulombe
I have spent the years of my existence
with a blood-induced persistence
in a strange New England of the soul –
Poe or Lovecraft cast the role.
With the old familial band,
I have lived in Shadowland.
In a set with Gothic towers
Eidolons and Eldritch powers.
Wise old ones, who surely know,
unearthly things that walk the snow.
The wild calling of the loon
in ancient woodlands beneath the moon.
Though all I own is in a crate
I carry close beside my fate.
A light has pierced my gloomy dark,
on my soul has burned a mark –
but the carrier soon must go.
I must follow, or else know
that for all my talk so grand
I bind myself in Shadowland.