Under Poem by Thomas Ware

Down, down, down,
Into the dark,
Into the damp and grey.

Down endless stairs and steps,
Tunneling deeper, deeper,
Deeper into the stony earth,
Of whose domain is rats and worms,
And nameless creatures,
Better left unsaid.

The dark rises up,
From the gates you can see its grasping tendrils,
Squirming ropes of black and red.
Black for midnight pits and caves,
Red for lost, despairing souls,
Who may not have rotted alone.

Who would tread into these oceans,
Of shadowed seas and cavernous maws?
Who would dare to brave the dark,
And why?
Only fools dare.
The abysses of night are all-consuming.

If you fall,
You will not return.
Huge spaces of vacuum and black,
Sucking all light,
Never to return is gladness.
Never to exist again is glee.
All emotions save fear are extinguished in the pits.

Shadows may move in the dark,
For though light breeds shadows,
So too does darkness.

Maybe there are unseen forces,
Twitching in tandem with titanic heartbeats.

Maybe there are reaching powers,
Seeking to engulf.

Maybe there are great creatures,
Moving stealthily along the rocks.

Maybe there are gods unknown,
To whom blood and ichor is spilled in silence.

Maybe there are sounds,
Noises of despair,
Fat mewlings of the grotesque,
Roars of the frightening,
Howls of the offensive.

Maybe there are black winds,
Sucking wholesomeness from the very air.

Maybe there are evil ethers,
Misting through dimensions and distorting time.

Many things have dwelled and dug,
Many lives have these holes claimed,
Some human,
Others have been.