The Vanished Scholar

dedicated to the heroes of Lovecraftian horror stories, and their writers

The bedding rots in a tidy stupor;
its tenant, a scholar, of no reputre in
circles far and wide, vanished in the dark,
hid simply, like an elder's carnal sin.

His room, a dirty house its mere keeper,
looks out upon an alley and its grime,
one window of those where poor scholars live.
The normal world without, and its walking slime.

What pain our scholar felt before he left!
The daily grind of humans and their talk...
So when a world beyond opened its door,
all he did was pack his books and walk.