I am absent now, I no longer inhabit this temporal cage,
I have no need for traitorous Love and no use for the finer things,
My short and sour visit to this decaying empire of rage,
Has been far too painful to beg for the peace that holy sleep brings.
Now there is no need for vicious air or dangerous water,
My fear and my hatred of the inequity of life sustains me.
In desperation I now suck at the bosom of cold terror,
My ears cannot hear sweat music. Even my eyes struggle to see.
Around me are those who would feed on my flesh. Dear God let the icy hail fall,
And old eternal Heaven shut forever its golden and forbidden door,
Now let poor old Satan in a cheer, trumpet a victorious call,
For I am done and washed up on Hell’s shore.
-
Author:
David Wakeling (
Offline) - Published: May 30th, 2025 00:02
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 24
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments4
But you will survive into a better life David.
Andy
Yes I hope so. Thanks for you vote of confidence mi amigo
This is a very powerful piece that seems as though it had fallen out of Dante and his Inferno. It follows in a predictable lament of despair and then surprise what I thought would be sweet music turns sour in sweat. This changed the tone. A very strong poem of suffering. Nicely written a fave
Actually Dante's inferno is very close to the feeling.Thank you for your insightful critique
A feel of despair and suffering as hell opens it welcome door, enjoyed the read
Yes we all feel that way from time to time.Thanks for your kind critique
You are very welcome
Excellent write David
Thank you comrade
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