Tribute to Lovecraft

Tribute to Lovecraft

What is fear?
Does it hark at your heels,
with ears pinned back
and gnarly fangs produced?
Can it make your heart
stop in cold December,
to wake up in June
with nothing to recall?
Will it hide
behind the curtain,
in your closet,
under your skin?
You live so close
to the onyxian shore
of ebon bones and
gnawing teeth!
And only by not looking
will they calm to waves
and murmuring rocks.
Still, as the hands
of a mad man turned
surgeon.
Exspresionless, as the face
who hides in the
dark.
Chilled, like the dew covered
blade in the early
morning.
Fear is but a shadow
gone horribly wrong.
And you,
are but a match stick
in a damp cave.