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The gate's iron hinges creak softly shut, leaving me standing alone, still and quiet. Jutting out into the blackness grotesque creatures of stone capture the moonlight with their mocking faces; silent sentinels of the dead, relentlessly watching, always knowing. From fear, or perhaps shame, I try not to look at them; for I feel them inside me judging my soul. Amidst their terror and the total stillness of the night, the tombstones appear as unevenly strewn shadows growing up from the ground - each one ready to tell its tale of life and death.
It is wrong to disturb the dead, yet this gruesome compulsion overtakes me. Tendrils of evil search the catacombs of my mind; finding its way quicker now, each time quicker, searching for the need to be with souls as dead as mine. The wisps of my breath released into the night air testify I have life, but my blackened heart tells a tale of death. I stand amongst the dead, whom should I choose?
Surrounded by dirt mixed with my sweat, I pull the decayed corpse from its grave. I pay no heed to the skin tickling bugs crawling on my hands as I brush the dirt off the stiff, fragile corpse. Intently, I gaze into the hollow sockets of its horrid face. Using the full moon's ghastly glow I study the features and wonder: What was his life like? How did he die? But the skull tells me nothing. Worms have long ago eaten the flesh from his face, leaving only a silent, morbid grin. He has no eyes, he cannot see. He has no heart, he cannot love. Someday I will end up like him. Or am I already like him? I feel the stone sentinels seducing my soul. My hatred seethes, my hands clench his body tightly. I crack his ribs into a cloud of dust...and breathe in the air of death.
It is wrong to disturb the dead, yet this gruesome compulsion overtakes me. Tendrils of evil search the catacombs of my mind; finding its way quicker now, each time quicker, searching for the need to be with souls as dead as mine. The wisps of my breath released into the night air testify I have life, but my blackened heart tells a tale of death. I stand amongst the dead, whom should I choose?
Surrounded by dirt mixed with my sweat, I pull the decayed corpse from its grave. I pay no heed to the skin tickling bugs crawling on my hands as I brush the dirt off the stiff, fragile corpse. Intently, I gaze into the hollow sockets of its horrid face. Using the full moon's ghastly glow I study the features and wonder: What was his life like? How did he die? But the skull tells me nothing. Worms have long ago eaten the flesh from his face, leaving only a silent, morbid grin. He has no eyes, he cannot see. He has no heart, he cannot love. Someday I will end up like him. Or am I already like him? I feel the stone sentinels seducing my soul. My hatred seethes, my hands clench his body tightly. I crack his ribs into a cloud of dust...and breathe in the air of death.
Plague War Famine and Death
On twitching legs and buzzing wings
The wind carries the droning swarm
Hoards strike like poison arrows
Boring disease into your soul
The suffocating pestilence spreads
Multiplying, devouring
Gorging until nothing is left
Fear and hate bellow the fire
Flames flicker with lies and deceit
The wind screams, releasing the demons of war
Steel talons carry an impending horror
A great cloud of atomic death
The innocent condemned to strife
Scars upon scars, the affliction of war
Scarred, abandoned, feeling the pangs of despair
A parched world of dried blood and tears
Arms unfold, reaching out
As if holding their souls aloft
Their empty hands shrive
Plague Ship
Drowsily the waves sway, with an ominous rhythm
the air heavy with salt and rotting wood
a wraithlike fog obscures the horror
enveloping this floating prison of death
On silent legs the pestilence creeps
thousands of tiny eyes glinting with hunger
swarming in crevices, furtively stirring in the shadows
infested, teeming, stowaways of disease
A weight on my chest, a tiny squeal
a dark profile of doom casts a fatal shadow
my eyes open in horror, as I stare into the face of a hideous rat
the Black Death is upon me - this ship is my tomb!
Malignant Earth
The world is sick with human disease
contaminated, malignant
Everywhere the imprint of man
a synthetic world, unnatural
Wanton neglect
endlessly defiling beauty
Forever mocking nature with trophies of extinction
Over the intrinsically beautiful
lives a shadow of desolation
Arrogance and wastefulness
defines our existence
Earth was not created for man
Expect purification
When the world cures itself
it will be the end of mankind
This Winter's Day
An icy wind blows
willful in purpose
from west over the horizon
howling over the hills
over housetops and trees
the ghostly wails of gloom
Grey clouds banish the sun
out of the bleakness the snow descends
falling softly from the sky
faintly resting on earth and tree
behold in reverence
the vast monocolored elegance
a veil of white, vanquishing color
For hours I watch
till early dusk
the delicate awe of nature
with drowsy eyes
I drift into dreams
On this winter’s day
© 2012 - 2024 01Gus01
Comments12
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You know what would be perfect? Reading this dark masterpiece from an old scroll written in Unziale or Bastarda calligraphy. So much emotion in it like always. Even father death would be thrilled to read your stories!
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I don’t want to go to haven! It’s boring up there!!
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I don’t want to go to haven! It’s boring up there!!