Panflute Woos Me, Panic Betrothes Me, Terror Consummates Me

What can't be seen is everything else

A panoply of a universe unconnected to me

A blind panorama I enter, imperceptive

Of that everything

And those everythings

Who/that await me

Nocturnal footsteps are mine

By the grace of lunar guidance

Shafting through the canopy

In staccato flashes syncopating with

Twig snaps and panicky creature-scurrying underfoot

Like me

Mine--not the only steps

Must move forward so

I can't put my back toward it

My soft-side, exposed for punches to come

Into the unknown smells and sounds

And fears

A chilled, shard-filled ambiance

Hangs, horizontal, posting right-angle triggers

With Damocles poised, smiling

To shred my quest

Before passing unmolested, unharmed,

And--breathing still?

A pan flute calls the vector to forward me

I raise each step to purchase tentative footway

And listen to each unconfirmed movement

Mine or, otherwise, caprine

A metered journey, carefully slow

And terrifying

So alone but, alone, not

A horned shadow mirrors each displacement

Of gravelly footfalls that announce

My tentative march toward the unknown

Entity who receives me expectantly

And angrily

Can vengeance come before I

Did-what-I-do to provoke it?

Can effect-precede-cause

And conclude-before-arrival?

Am I walking into a predetermination

Of peril, out of any rational order?

The pan flute sounds as the music of panic

Weaves fugued with the sounds

Unseen-but-heard, heard-but-unrecognized

My center of gravity is fluid, unanchored

I'm in tesseract territory, none of it really here

Or friendly

There is an everything that threatens

In the dark and dank and unseen

Yes, seeing navigates the world--

But dark's hearing invites what's to come

From a world unseen and flows everywhen

Toward me

Everything and everywhen and everyone

Call to me from their horrific singularity

On a number line's eddy currents

Where both sides of zero cancel but don't forgive

Here-to-there is preposterous, yet there-to-here

Is what is the coming-for-me

You cannot be a bulwark to everything

You can only join the cacophony and mayhem

To teach those who follow

That every conquers any

And each-of-us are any who must yield to the every

Until we forget, careless, and thus perish

Turn around!

Put your back to it

You cannot/will not see it, happening

Everything-all-at-once

Unfathomed in panic

And Lovecraftian dreads

Pull the covers over your head!

Brace your soft-side 'gainst terra firma

And suffer what onslaughts come

By wedding the unknown

And making your conjugal bed

On the down of uncertainty