Long Eldritch Poems
Long Eldritch Poems. Below are the most popular long Eldritch by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Eldritch poems by poem length and keyword.
Follow the path
in the dark of night
past the Well of Wyrd
In the forest deep
the Witch Trees keep
names in a book of blood
Eldritch is plucking something
strange he doesn't want you to see
he found it under a tree
Down the path dark
is a glimmering Eye
where spirits meet
Of all living things
in wisdom and death
it questions the young
Hatchlings who say
they know the way
but the Eye says no
Odin's lost Eye
sees glowing red runes in
the magic of gods in the night
Spells like tangled wires
in the dead branches of Witch
Trees scratching and hunting
For the Eye of Dark
is dreams half seen
by twisting primeval souls.
In the chill of night, when shadows dance and sway,
A tale of Halloween, I'm bound to convey.
A story woven from the threads of scare,
Beware the whispers in the haunted air.
In a quaint old town, where cobwebs hung,
Where eldritch secrets from the rafters clung,
The people gathered, dressed in fright,
To celebrate the Eve where day meets night.
The moon, a ghostly galleon, sailed the sky,
As children laughed and revelers did cry,
"Trick or treat!" they'd chant with glee,
Unaware of the true horror, soon to be.
Beneath the Hunter's Moon, a figure stood,
A specter draped in tattered hood,
With eyes like embers, glowing in the night,
It watched the townsfolk with an eerie delight.
"Boo!" it whispered, soft as velvet breeze,
And one by one, the laughter ceased.
For those who heard, their blood ran cold,
As ancient dread within their hearts took hold.
The figure moved, a silent, creeping blight,
Through the town it glided, out of sight,
Leaving in its wake a silent, deadly trace,
A chill that clung like a spectral embrace.
The revelers, they felt it, deep within,
A primal fear, a shivering skin,
For the figure in the shadows was no mortal being,
But a malevolent force, its true form unseeing.
It chose its prey with a malicious grin,
A young man, costumed, full of sin,
It followed him down the moonlit lane,
And in its gaze, he felt a deadly strain.
He turned to face the spectral foe,
His heart did race, his courage low,
But too late did he realize the plight,
That he was now the creature's chosen for the night.
With a final scream, the man was claimed,
By the horror that could not be named,
And the townspeople, they'd always remember,
The Halloween when fear was truly tender.
So heed this rhyme when autumn leaves do fall,
And the veil is thin, and spirits call,
For on All Hallow's Eve, when ghouls do roam,
You might just find you're not alone.
II.
Liesel spent months worrying about this,
about dark minions and young souls that hurt,
she even started fearing for herself
for questioning the teachings of the church.
She did not want to damn herself to Hell,
but she couldn’t believe that it was true
that a loving God would punish children
for something that they themselves couldn’t do.
How did it make sense that helpless infants
could be punished due to their parents?
Why would they suffer for another’s sins,
how in the world did such a thing make sense?
But Liesel kept this turmoil inside,
and tried to just keep on living her life,
didn’t tell of doubts that haunted her thoughts,
or worried dreams that kept hear up at night.
It all came to a head six months later,
her neighbor’s new baby died in his sleep,
The town gathered up for the funeral,
to weep loudly, and to pour out their grief.
Liesel loitered near the back of the crowd,
every so often she glanced to the woods,
until finally she saw the woman,
and decided she’d settle this for good.
She crept out of her parent’s house that night,
made her way slowly down to the churchyard,
at midnight the old crone walked to the grave,
and from her cloak removed some sort of jar.
She opened it and stood there quietly
for a long moment, then shuffled away,
Liesel followed, determined that somehow
she would not make this foul demon pay.
Through a dark forest of eldritch oak trees,
where brushy undergrowth scratched at her skirts,
across gurgling streams that wet her feet,
down dark ravines where the wolfpacks still lurked.
Amidst calling owls loud in the night,
she followed that old crone through the wild,
she kept a good distance, forty paces,
her feet bled, and she wheezed from the trial.
Finally she came upon a small glade,
to the center of it the crone did go,
right to an old cabin that rose up there,
Over the door was a sign that said ‘Limbo.’
Her heart froze as the old woman walked in,
she saw the briefest flash of light from inside,
all of her reason screamed out, ‘You should run!’
But she couldn’t, no matter how hard she tried.
Some great force acted deep within her soul,
she couldn’t say if for good of for ill,
but Liesel found herself approaching the door,
simply a pawn to some powerful will…
—Seeking Still—
The stars have lost the tremor of their fire,
the aspens, wind-wed, scarcely stir a leaf;
the sea keeps blue, yet azure's old attire
seems banish'd from the deep, past all belief.
The butterflies still skim the lucent air,
yet some lost eidolon of flight is gone;
the hummingbirds, once liquid choirs, blare
like brazen bells beneath a witless dawn.
I touch the rain—it glimmers, yet is dry;
the lilies breathe a wan, funereal sweet;
and honey, once the sun's own gold, turns awry,
lies rotting 'neath the noontide's brazen heat.
What if the world hath not grown strange at all—
but I became the stranger at thy fall?
I muse if mine own wits have wander'd wide,
or some eldritch derangement veils my sight;
for thou hast vanish'd, leaving naught beside
but all the world bereft of inward light.
The moon still climbs above the chimneys' smoke,
and weary men bar fast their doors at night;
yet every common thing seems somehow broke,
as though each thing had outliv'd its ancient right.
Perhaps thy presence was the secret art
by which the visible became benign;
and now the world still beats, yet lacks the heart
that taught its mute immensities to shine.
And shouldst thou never turn thy face to mine,
I'll call this ruined universe—divine.
Terror Beneath the Bruised Twilight
Beneath the bruised twilight, forsaken graves gape wide,
Splintered crosses leer like phantoms that bide.
Brambles coil and clutch with thorns sharp as dread,
Weeds mutter curses for the restless and dead.
A skeletal steeple claws the plague-stricken sky,
Hollow winds shriek through windows where lost souls still cry.
Rusty gates slam behind, locking shadows within,
Power lines moan warnings of unpardonable sin.
Ghastly shapes swirl, faces twisted with pain,
Grasping cold gravestones, chanting dark refrain.
Silence crushes breath, as if the world mourns its doom,
In this eldritch graveyard, pure terror finds room.
betwixt the chaos and happiness
I'm feeling something
In the tranquil nature of wind
In the tranquil sounds of birds
In the tranquil calmness of the pond
I see a reflection of mine
and hope for the eternal peace
to put out the fire
to challenge the eldritch figure
who has destroyed my home
I've been vexed by my haunting dreams
I've been vexed by the actions I take
each step I take feels like dying
each breathe feels like perishing
each thought feels like confined
time to quell this nearer or beyond the horizon
clouds of uncertainty surrounds this question
all I know is a place in my mind
where tranquility takes over my soul
Tasteless pelt whiffs of mundane air
Against my nostrils numb with dread;
Scarcely fathom I what spectacle fair
Beyond this umbra curtain latent lies.
Tetchy harbingers over dark corners
Lurk under dismal mirage-like cloud;
Tomorrow's dreams in eldritch lines
Occlude wisest presages renowned.
Each day's bleak bulletins present
Chillily menacing brutish shadows,
As jinxed year's tides forward hop
Into ever-spiraling strangling woes.
Suave eccedentesiast lips no longer
Can mask sore past's swelling blight,
Nor plastic laughter as finely conceal
Apprehensive misgiving's inured bite.
Though indelible certainty clear outline
Of stealthily skulking prospect obscure,
And crafty clock dials key inchings hide,
This menaced soul shall still reign pure.
Rumbling earth offers it's own baseline
Bones of the underworld crackle thunderously
Concussive forces driving Gaia's ecstasy.
The man watches as her eyes crackle menacingly
Mortal flirtations lusting for battle
Stone and Crystal, immense and fragile.
Booming, resonating, radiating, alive,
Conjured rumblings otherworldly
Each threaten alternately
To burst his chest
Or to implode it.
With each pulse, each soul-searing challenge of her gaze,
Every aching breath
Yet he remains, agonizingly still
And there is nought but to wait for her to move first.
It is a reaper's die cast in darkness
Uncalculated gamble of unwitting fortune
So he must wait.
Her almar might yet give a wary soul rest
Hiraeth, and hope.
Or unmercifully rend him hapless.
So lingers his being, languishing in exquisite agony
Hoping desperately, and rumbling as eldritch runes 'neath horrors unknown.
Clutter of echoing chirpings up my sylvan irreverent tune
detaching reckless realities carefully sewn above a sovereign moon
Velvet violin tunes arose to a bittersweet string of polyester prattle sorrows
1 2 3 4 5
afar wraith paths of escape
Timelessly stretching through thicket aroused breaths aloof stones
soft spoken soughing of a enigma fauna painted into woodland bones
Myrth crystal waves lost on the ledge of sequel crayons of tattle tomorrows
6 7 8 9 10
I enter the way
Stargazing Ichiko's hymns on the coddling abyssal of my reverie train
enter the arcane painted depths of my esoteric paint though celestial rains
Wine bonnets drunken on overdosed fabricated ebullient sunshine rays
11 12 13 14 15
I exit tolling doom
If a moon veiled aethereal heart would dare to venture runic gossamers
Exit hurricanes of eldritch swirls on a nostalgic chimerical polished casimire
Heathen tartaned nova deer in bountiful fruit baskets of wolves astray
16 17 18 19
entering celestial crypts
Tired realities howl through a seraphic talismanic engaging bracken shield
I see now what lies across verdant sunlight flickering Swiss Lyn orchard fields
Peach kisses upon a soft freckled hand through sibilant hushed vineyards
20 21 22 23 24 25
I remain
Peering through a starless veil,
A pallid eye—above the din
Spies furious shapes of tooth and nail,
Neath creaking giants with cracking limbs
A ghastly fiend with nary an eye,
Gaping maw and slithering tongue
Stretches taut a leathery hide,
To beat upon a tethered drum
Motley creatures with vicious bite,
Crooked spine and bony spurs
Caper 'round a flickering light,
In mottled skins and ragged furs
A supine figure amid the row,
Kissed by visage in shrouded garb—
One hand reassures a trembling brow,
The other, holds firm an ornate barb
An incantation from a gnarled crone,
Her fingers outstretched—snatch the moon
Thrusted steel through breast and bone,
Herald forth an inexorable doom
The suffering flesh—a siren song,
To The Horror lurking yon The Pine
Spawned in The Void of the Cosmic Throng,
Of shape and form that breaks the mind
————————
Piercing through the flickering veil,
A carnal gaze that churns within
Eyes curious shapes that bow and wail,
Repays in kind with a charnel wind
An eldritch tongue—like scoured sword,
Smites the menagerie on its knees
Withers the vine and sours the gourd,
Parts bird and bark from the trees
Sinewy beings with leathery wings,
Borne from the flame—flit to-and-fro
Pluck lifeless things like violin strings,
To marionette a puppet show
Neath weeping giants with blackened limb,
Infernal corpses, made to parade
The crone crows a hymn through hideous grin,
Sour on the wind, a sweet serenade
————————
In the cold, cruel dark—an icy refrain,
The soft, pallid glow—now scarlet red
The crone props her bones upon crooked cane,
And ventures forth with her army of the dead