Within those quiet halls
Of emerald vines and ivory walls,
I hear the voices, choral calls,
Singing as the last leaf falls.
Into winter, the land does descend,
Yet all the world does pretend
That the biting cold that will never end
Does heal their sanity, that it mends,
When in reality, their reality bends.
They live within a false cage.
Convinced that they shall never age,
That they do not perform upon the stage
Of those who feed off their rage.
As I did walk upon the shore,
In summer’s noon in days of yore,
I heard that tune men abhor,
A tune that I simply adore.
They sang their song in great solemnity,
Their tune echoing on the blackened sea.
They warn of troubles to be born on me,
Yet no warning I did see.
Therefore upon that late autumn day,
When I had made my way
Into halls within ivory lay,
With hopes, my death, I might delay.
The fountain, oh that youthful drink,
Could keep me from the Reaper’s brink.
Yet there I smelled Death’s repulsive stink,
And there I realized the missing link.
Icy breath upon my neck.
The warnings to keep my greed in check.
The beast foretold in myths of Aztec,
The reason that the ruins did beck.
The only word I know is regret,
As from greed, comes always debt.
The fountain once Life’s blood and sweat,
Became that dreadful silent threat.
The beast obscured in the shadow.
Oh! How the water of fate does flow!
Forced to, within my sins to wallow,
For the pool for the greedy is far too shallow.
“I’ve learned my lesson!” I let out and screamed.
“You’ve made your choice.” The wind decreed.
“You have signed in blood and greed
And for crimes, the guilty is soon to bleed.”
And from guilt and from my plead,
I was thusly freed.
YOU ARE READING
Within the Catacombs of the Soul
Krótkie Opowiadania"They who dream by day are cognizantof many things which escape those who dream only by night." Edgar Allan Poe. A collection of short stories and poems written over the years by Alexis Pool.
