The day dawned dark and grim As I arose from the depths of nightmare. I gazed with fear my window from And saw the streets outside were bare. The city was deserted, a gilded grave of glass. I started out upon the street, And not a soul I met as I went along; For none was there to meet. The sun shone green betwixt the clouds, A cast of light I never saw; And the wind blew strong and cold, The air was harsh and raw. And then at last, an empty highway on, I met what might have been my twin– Save the empty sockets for his eyes, And his cacodaemoniac grin. He smirked, as if ‘t were all some joke. And then he melted to a bloody pulp. And it was then–I think–that I awoke.
The hour was late, and the guardsman held his lonely vigil. A moonless night, disturbed only by things which might be; The imagined things which almost don’t exist, but leave their sigil Imprinted on the black depths of humanity’s genetic memory.
As the guard gazes into the night, what monsters may be there? Whence come the phantasmal sounds that make him raise his gun? Is the darkness populated with fiends, lurking everywhere– Or are the beasts loosed within his brain, content therein to run?
Is it a comfort to say that tales of these abominations Are products of our minds; some mentally abhorrent whim? If the vilest of monsters are the works of our imaginations, Then what kind of things are we who have imagined them?