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I am Providence

Howard Philips is my name,
An imp of ancient breed.
Two hundred years too late I am
Wrought by tainted seed.
Mother taught me as a child
How hideous I am—
But perchance by writing hand
Redeem myself I can?

People’s gaze I fear by day,
Nightgaunts haunt my dreams
Where through shadows I must thread
By Miskatonic streams.
Horrid scenes of dread import
Imprinted in my brain:
Blood-voice whisper, must I then
Like father go insane?

I haunt their tombs, i thread damp soil,
By water and by gambrel roof.
I was not made for workman’s toil.
Upon these ancient streets by day I lack’d all confidence
In Rhode Island’s Providence.

A woman I was made to wed,
She brought me far away.
In mongrel-haunted Gotham town
She wish’d for me to stay.
Ziggurats the sky there scrape
As in Babylon.
Crawling vermin everywhere,
Every foul deed done.

I turned away, I turned to home
To tombstones and to gambrel roof.
Ancestral grounds again to roam.
Upon these ancient streets I have found my confidence—
My home stands in Providence.

Out of aeons rise my dreams
Older than all names.
Tyre and Babylon are young
As are man’s mindframes.
Ignorance it is what keeps
Mankind sound and sane.
Soon enough is mine to thread
Sweet oblivion’s lane.

I cling to stone, I cling to soil,
To water and to gambrel roof.
I dying cling to writing’ s toil.
Upon these andcient streets that emanate my confidence—
I am, I am Providence.

All material and media on these pages is, unless otherwise indicated, Copyright © Joakim Andreasson 2010-2016. All rights reserved.