I lay down
Secured in night’s fold, I sleep
Death appears, a veil in the pitch
Is the pitch
The lucent roil of molten souls
The stench of sweat in the whispering dew
Subtle signs of life amidst the carrion
Reapers among the sleepers
A flowing mantilla creeps across the nuance of slithering soil dwellers
caresses me, lifts me
I’m bract in the steaming vaporescence
Paralyzed, adrift through the pitch
Slammed to a knee, submerged in the niche
Hell’s Chateau! Bold. Grandiose
shimmering bronze, spewing a savage ooze
Beneath the portcullis a garland of skulls chatter
annoying clatter
Winged gorgons, wearing faces of cruel men bolt from within, retching flames, vomiting flies
And all around me lies the cries
Silenced sighs?
The nameless forgotten
Their numbered ears perked with tears
Over endless abodes sway undulating souls
A flowing veil escapes the swell
spears the evil with spoiling laughter
rattles the depths of now and hereafter
Screams beseech Revenge!
A surge, a scorching roar
Awake with a start
A yelp and a gasp!
Hearts slacken the raging asp
I die…
not yet

But I see the end.


      1. So kind of you to say so, Peter. I have been absent from WordPress for many months now, and have not posted on my own site for close to three years. I took a break to try my hand at some more short-form writing (fiction this time, a novella), and that has spun-out into a trilogy which I’m still working on. I’ve missed the connections with good souls such as yourself, missed your burning passion, your uncompromising integrity, your laudable moral resoluteness — all of which surpass my own. Some truly great lines you have spilling up there!

        Liked by 2 people

  1. This reminds me of a terrible nightmare I had once; I was my dad experiencing death, as he died in 2008. It was like sitting atop an unknown precipice and being forced to fall backward into a black, seemingly bottomless abyss, or worse than bottomless. It was terrible. I’d wondered if my dad sent me that dream so I’d know what he experienced. Then I realized it had to be my dreaming mind wondering what he experienced. I hope it wasn’t real, it was awful. I’d woken up after falling in darkness for a bit, so it was over. Thanks for this haunting poem, makes one think. You’re really talented. Death. The bleak mystery of life. And people deal death so easily, and terribly, to the innocents who’ve had only hell for lives. I can only hope what comes after death is a reward for having endured life on Earth. And comeuppance for those that have deliberately made life hell for others, the ones who actually do the sadistic deeds.

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    1. Sorry to remind you of that freakish experience. Dreams are incredible, often spooky. I think there’s more to them then just figments of imagination. Last night I dreamt of two…hmm…let’s call them dregs. Brothers, maybe. Real ruffians. Scrubby looking. One had a stub for a right arm. I have never seen them before. That’s all I remember about it.

      It’s all so very odd, dreams as well as death. Two of the great mysteries we’re no closer to understanding.

      I’ve often wondered if there’s no penalty for atrocities committed by those with moral knowledge, what’s the point of anything? Though I can’t believe in eternal damnation. Can anyone be that deserving? Maybe.

      Thanks for the compliment. But it all comes too hard to be called talent. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Huh? You ARE talented. There’s nothing easy about pulling ideas out of our heads and turning them into words. Every time I go to write something – unless it’s direct reportage about something concrete and specific – I wonder if I will be able to turn my ideas into the right words. I hardly write high-brow stuff, but it’s still effortful. I don’t think any creative person turns up to ‘work’ and thinks “Oh, I’ll just bang out something original today, no worries, easy peasy”. I know our techniques improve, and we do get better at knowing what works and what doesn’t, but I don’t think that turning ideas into substance, especially new ideas, is ever a total walk in the park for most of us.

        Liked by 2 people

      2. No need to be sorry, I don’t mind being reminded of that dream. But yeah, dreams really can be freaky; where do all these insane, disjointed details come from? It all seems so real.

        I have to believe in Just Deserts, whatever they may be, since there really would be no point to anything otherwise. And yes, there are people who deserve eternal hell: those who’ve enjoyed inflicting horrible suffering upon innocents.

        And it certainly doesn’t seem to be hard for you to write the way you do, so I’d say it’s talent. I couldn’t do it, I’m too literal and cornball. My mom used to love poems I’d write, but she alone loved absolutely everything I wrote, lol.

        Liked by 1 person

      3. We learn by way of osmosis, the stores of knowledge from those we surround ourselves with are our gain. I’ve talent, okay, I accept the compliment. But it is you all who’ve lent your talents to my ability. Thank you, both, and for all you do.

        Liked by 2 people

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