Down the Dark Path Home of author and artist, J Edward Neill

The Suspense is Killing Me – A Poem

August 20, 2019 | poems | Permalink

I wait in chains

for the dawn, for the almighty clock to tick.

Dangling for the universe to see,

whole lifetimes swim beneath me.

My eyes consume all things in absentia.

Like parchment, my skin,

inked with small stories, unread.

If they came to cut me down, I would deny them.

“Let me hang,” I would cry. “For here I will outlast you all.”

I wait in chains

for a key, for a hand to turn it.

My lips are sewn shut, and my tongue locked behind the pale bars

of my jailer teeth.

At times, the wind rips at my flesh.

At others, it adores me.

Still I sway in bondage, unknowing what is real,

and what lies have come to whip me.

I wait in chains

for the night to die, for the sole voice I starve to hear.

Naked, the shadows strip me to my bones,

killing each yesterday, tearing the names from tomorrow.

If it stings, no one will know,

for none will lift their faces to see me.

And when it comes at last, whether I am whole or living death,

the cold clasps of my captured soul will break.

I will tumble, through cloud, through rain, through everything

I have watched, yet never touched.

The suspense will end.

And I will know the worth of my waiting.

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J Edward Neill

The Dark Art Movement

August 18, 2019 | Art! | Permalink

Hi there, everyone.

I’ve recently joined a new art collective.

At Dark Art Movement, we specialize in surreal, scary, and intense art. We have paintings, photographs, drawings…everything.

Please stop by and check us out. We’ve got a little something for everyone curious about the dark arts.

Sincerely,

J Edward Neill

The Riot

August 7, 2019 | poems | Permalink

She lives in the wind

or so the riot tells me.

A golden flame, a pale rapture, an elemental catastrophe,

all of this, and more, the riot will say.

An invisible trail, she leaves,

on the streets we have walked, in our rumbled bed.

But she is never lesser.

Her hours of toil beget mere moments of calm,

for there is no taming her, only the lie thereof.

She walks never straight, but in tangles, in weaves,

and on wild paths only the trees can name.

She lives in the wind

or so I’ll say

from now until the end of everything.

Many will try, and many will dream of her at peace,

only for a moment’s breeze to unravel her.

to take her skyward.

to unleash her.

The riot, she is.

In body, in spirit.

And those who would tame her,

had best beware.

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J Edward Neill

Lords of the Black Sands – The Apocalypse is Now!

June 12, 2019 | Books! | Permalink

For centuries, Galen has fled from the Pharaoh and his immortal servant, the Nemesis.

Not any more.

Across the desolate wasteland of the ruined Kingdom of Earth, Galen marches toward his only chance at freedom.

Only he can live forever.

Only he can defeat the Lords of the Black Sands.

 

Soaked to my Bones

May 25, 2019 | Books! | Permalink

Soaked to my very bones, I stood in the mansion’s foyer. My boots left puddles on the shadowed stones, and my shirt made a storm of its own, raining dark water in a circle around me. All the lights were off—the maid had scurried back to her tower for the day.

If only it were safe, she could’ve used the cellars and stayed dry.

But then, it wasn’t safe, I knew.

At all.

How long I lingered in the foyer, I could not have said. Though only early afternoon, the grey sunlight dripped through the windows as if declaring its retirement for the day. I felt timeless. Motionless. Barely alive. The only sounds in the world were the rain’s battering of the windows and the thousand thoughts in my head scrambling over one another just to be heard.

I hadn’t slept in the last several days, and thus I hadn’t dreamed. Too long into every night, I’d been consumed with painting canvasses that grew darker with each brush stroke. The source of my dark inspiration had begun to worry me. My suspicions were no longer shallow puddles, but rather oceans of doubt.

Someone…or something…lay beneath Carrick.

Stealing my work.

Locking my doors.

Darkening my mind.

Blackening my paintbrush.

Still dripping with rain, I pondered what to do:

Call the police? Tell them, ‘Hello, officer. I’m Alex, and there’s a pale-eyed demon in my basement.’

No. 

Sell this place? Leave it behind like Clara said?

No.

Only one thing was certain.

Geoff can’t come back here until it’s safe.

I studied the foyer’s high, high walls. Weathered tapestries bearing coats-of-arms I didn’t recognize hung from blackened iron rods. Plaques commemorating events of which I’d never heard clung to nails long ago hammered into the mortar.

Above the hearth, which hadn’t been lit in ages, something else was fastened to the wall.

A sword.

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This teaser is from my upcoming mystery/suspense novel, The Fall of Castle Carrick. It’ll hit stores this summer.

Check back for more excerpts soon to come.