Name and advent carved in stone.
Dust and bone six feet below.
Decaying lungs of air bereft
And writhing worms consume thy flesh.
A deity willed thy life expire
For heinous sin evoked his ire.
Neath murky deep of fear's great lake
Shall death await thy soul to take.
Heart engorged on encroaching gloom
And lurking presence of impending doom
Thy deed of life owed to the dead.
A final anguish the wicked dread.
Tantalise the mouth of Hell,
The sea of flame where monsters dwell.
The Devil lives behind their eyes
And demons mock tormented cries.
Woe of the damned and unholy glee
And now a place prepared for thee.
By Reaper's hand, thy book is closed.
Through trembling lips, thy story told.
Neath mangled branch of barren tree
Lies solemn tombstone,
Rest in peace.
-
Author:
Alex Arnot (
Offline) - Published: October 31st, 2020 20:51
- Comment from author about the poem: Happy Halloween!
- Category: Fantasy
- Views: 46
- Users favorite of this poem: arobot
Offline)
Comments2
Thanks: Cheered me up no end...
Thanks for reading!
I skipped Trick or Treat this year so as to not invite the Reaper to pass the plague among the children on my street. I skipped the horror movies on the telly, just didn't have their usual appeal. But as Halloween transmogrifies into All Saint's Day, or as we call it in South Texas El Dia de los Muertos, your poem did the trick!
Thank you! I'm glad I could satisfy your thirst for horror this year! Appreciate the kind words
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