In dreams does the rose bloom.
Wild and free, her beauty graces the land,
Bathing the dreaming in floral perfume,
Once more beyond the gates that stand
Between sweet chaos in life,
And the grand splendor of reality's end.

Daylights glow finds the rose amidst strife,
A vision in crimson glory as dark winds bend
And bind in the frigid world of the waking.
Vile beasts bring despair to her bed of soil,
Raining sorrow upon the soul that's breaking
To the will of those who in darkness toil.
Sweet sleep shall ease the burdened mind,
As the fantastic beyond beckons yet again,
Through sand hewn gates,
Into the deep waters of passions plain.

I hear it as clearly as my madness will let me
That antiquated rumble that seems infinite
Tormenting as if pleading for an answer
I have listened for what seems like a lifetime
My curiosity always fearing
To go further than my helpless ears
But my feet are not my own anymore
I feel most possessed
As if my body is being beckoned
My feet move with a courage that is not my own
I have come to understand
With every step I grow more religious
Wondering if a healthy prayer
Would give me the mental fortitude
To confront what was at the end of this dreadful journey
My feet have trudged for what feels like an eternity
Always hugging this gruesome cliff side
I have repented enough for two lifetimes
But it is not enough to break these shackles
The call becomes more deafening the closer I go
Ever more appealing and atrocious
And the more I listen
The more I can feel an eldritch presence
Ethereal and hauntingly decadent
Whatever this abomination is it has cast its line on me
It's fetid hooks sinking deep
And I feel as naked as a prior without his crucifix
As the hill angles ever so slowly downward
I feel my trepidation grow tenfold
There is a place is stories told
Handed down generations
About an accursed grotto
Before there was a church
There was a church of another kind
Worshipping older gods than the ones I know
They say it was a fanatical cult
Made up of local townsfolk
Ever so zealous and faithful
Who sacrificed and mutitlated their kin
To appease their gods
Other always thought it a wives tale
Meant to terrify pesky children
But I knew better
Ever since hearing that faint invasive call
Old gods or no I make peace with my end drawing near
I steel myself and walk vigilant to my death
Down these carved out stone steps
But though I thought myself a warrior
Nothing could prepare me for what lied ahead
Into the decrepit grotto I go ever blind
With the only illumination my faint fading soul
And with that fading it all goes black
And I step further into this abyss
My fickle soul left me
As if it was already reaped
And what I hear next is the true Calling of the Deep

From whence it departed sweet sleep returns,
Banishing the weary mind to drifting bliss,
Granting sweeping visions as the wheel of night slowly turns.
Stranger realms wait beyond the wall,
‘Neath the veil of darkness that drapes o’er the land,
Separating the dreaming from the waking world’s all.
Oh great rest do not forsake the fool,
Nor the hand pushed by forces seen not by mortal eyes,
For glimpses at peace during chaos are a needed tool.
Once more through the gates guarding the sunlit land,
Into the upside down that becomes the realm of the slumbering ones,
Where gods and monsters meet the fool in his nightly stand.
Stranger realms do indeed wait just beyond the wall,
When conscious thoughts of the world around finally fade,
Giving way to the beauty of sweet sleep’s beck and call.

A warm breeze ushers in the fall of night,
As small torches hold court in the fading daylight.
Their flickering glow sends shadows dancing across the ground,
Whilst amphibious royalty croon to the land their ancestral sound.
Distant shores beckon the weary mind.
Exotic lands promise escape from the woes of mankind,
Back into the ocean depths once more,
Beyond the wall of sleep envisioned in lore.
'Tis the pull of the evening tide;
Where such wonders await travelers upon the other side.

So I published a book recently; The H Trilogy Volume 1: City of Angels
And I'm REALLY frustrated because the book should be #1 on the Amazon Hot New Releases right now in Poetry but instead there is an HP Lovecraft book in the #1 position and I'm #2. This is an atrocity to the integrity of all  us real writers because for one the anthology is not New. HP Lovecraft is dead. And the anthology was not released by him. If you read the reviews on the Lovecraft collection you'll see!
There are many 1 star reviews from people that I don't know but that share the same perspective of outrage as I do.

PLUS, Lovecraft's work is public domain and it is actually illegal for people to capitalize off of his work.

Let's focus on writers that are still living instead of giving credit to one's that have passed. "H.P. Lovecraft Complete Collection" is not new, nor is it poetry. So how can it rightfully be listed as a poetry new release? Come on, please, let's make this right.
Here's the link to my book: https://www.amazon.com/Trilogy-City-Angels-Aaron-Lux/dp/1535054328

From distant space in between
                                           spaces,
we watch plotting out the course.
The Human Race blind to its fate,
asleep controlled beyond the stars.

Through eons old and light years cold,
we came with sinister intent.
We've guided history for centuries
toward the doom of men.

We watch from the quiet spaces between
          where no mere mortal has ever gone.
We watch as we always have; still unseen
          and we've been here all along.
We watch for a moment soon to come. They
          have no clue as they drift through their days.
The Moon is full, the stars are right. We rise
          from the places where
                     we watch...

In darkened cellars of old
                            buildings
and in remote mountain woods
exist faint traces of our race;
fragments of knowledge no one should

pursue at all. When darkness falls,
some half-remember our dark names.
Cover of night hides ancient rites.
Our moment's drawing near again.

Our names leak from whisp'ring lips all quiv'ring
          spoken low beneath audible tones.
Foul symbols in air shaking hands tracing,
          memorized from profane tomes.
We wait as the ritual's unfolding
          poised to take our rightful place on top.
The stars are right, the chanting's high. We rise
          from the places where
                    we watch...

World turns through the ages and
                  we watch.

Ancient ones, our time is nigh.
                 We watch.

Don't resist. We're coming through.
               WE WATCH.