Something of A Prose Poem.

Where Misty Towers Haunt

In my dreams, when the shadow of morn hunts at my heels before the break of dawn; there I see the Misty Towers. Gaunt and horrifying they stand amidst seas of blasphemous vapors that invade both body and soul. They stand at the precipice of fallen earth. Where, at some unknown point in time, Dis and her denizens reached forth from the bowels of age-old soil to swallow whole, a land now lost. Perhaps, I thought, so hated were the morbid inhabitants of this place that those demons—whose names never will I mutter—took this land of horror haunted and in an act of both rage and mercy, buried it down into the abyss. Leaving only those haunting miasmic towers as a token of their demise.
    O’, but with those looming towers as a token of their demise, came each night my own creeping doom. Whether it were black nameless shades that carried me hence, or some tempting flow of wind that drew me ever closer to the shores of those clouded lands of malice. Each night I come upon those doomed towers of a bygone age when man was but a speck in the ground. And each night I saw, with face twisted into shades unknowable by any other mortal, the last horrid occupants of those Misty Towers.
    They came streaming out of those towers, peering through the mist and shambling along the broken ground beneath them. Many of them were as things that no man can describe and still remain sound of mind; though others, whose forms are of a more earthly variety, impressed upon me the fact of this place’s eldritch nature. These men, if men I can call them, were as tall as any mountain on earth and must have been formed in a time when they had need of such weapons as tusks, horns and barbed tails; for each of these things had, at the least, one of these vial tools about them. These things shambled about among the mist, looking here and there as if searching. And indeed searching they were. For each night, as the sun rose above the sky in both dreamworld and reality, those hulking things would find me, shout to their masters then tare me asunder before gods and all. Then I would awaken, and I know a part of me had stayed within those Misty Towers.
    Oddly, I know that someday, I’ll fall into dreaded sleep, and once again look upon those age-old towers. I would find myself staring back at me. His mouth ajar and face twisted in such expressions I alone know. And that, is how I will die.

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