From Realm of Darkness #1:


by Richard David Behrens

What vast necropolis is this
        whose ancient age englooms,
A countless population palled
        within decrepit tombs?

No sign, nor gate to delineate
        nor hedge to mark its bound,
No fence of brass, or stone, or wood;
        not any to be found.

A silent sea of mound and tomb
        with waves of tombstones weaving,
From horizon to horizon full;
        but not one mourner grieving.

Within the sky no bird to fly
        nor scurrying creature giving,
Any movement, any sign
        of anything near living.

But, I am here and you are here
        and as we clear our view,
It's plain to see, at least to me,
        this city's grown by two!


by Linda Ostrander

In the eerie, always dreary
Statued graveyards of the past,
Orations of ghastly vision;
Shrouded in death's last decision,
With epitaphs that come too fast.

The funeral veil, worn and pale
Drapes the moldy monuments;
There creating, always waiting
To snatch away the hesitating,
Bequeathing dismal, sad laments.

The last great meddler is the peddler
Of coffin, casket, tolling bell.
The sickle of the reaper's tomb
Reaches hands into the gloom;
The muffled drum of our citadel.


by John A. Youril

I will not be free of you
Nor consent to imagine a world fashioned from your absence

I will distinguish neither day nor night
Nor know more of this earth than I have already fathomed

I will die as the hours die
Remembering all
Taking all
Leaving nothing of myself in the unknown heart of any other.


by Richard David Behrens

How easily my mind falls in
       the labyrinth of Oblivion;
                 where mortal and Seraphim espouse;
                 where man and angel together espouse;
From out that Mystic ebon Sea
       the mysteries of Eternity!

And from these depths . . . Ah! Who indites
       on this the darkest night of nights;
                such an airy symphony;
                such an eerie symphony;
Some remnant o my past restore
       of something I have known before!

All the lowing of their sighs
       fills the evening's starless skies;
               fills the emptiness of night;
               fills the vacuum of the night;
And through my stilted soul runs free
       all the blackness of that Sea.

Who? Who are they that know the why?
       These phantoms of a boundless sky!
              Do they tell of hope for me?
              Tell of welcomed hope for me!
Or are their passionate rantings prate
       to ever seal me in my fate?