On dusty, aging shelves rest countries of minds drying in paper jars: mummified in culture, embalmed in ink, reincarnated in conscience.
Go forth! Adorn walls and altars to honor epitomes of thought: precise rhetoric of Socrates, vivid horrors of Dante, articulate utopias of Moore, cryptic lessons of Sa'di, heroic voices of Shakespeare--- all epiphanies of poets and projections in prose collected together.
Yet if ignored and neglected, such wisdoms are wasted, and intellectual temples aimed to inspire and instruct remain silent, standing crypts.
This is ancient land, this is hallowed ground, this is 21 kilometers worth of tunnels.
Blood stops flowing after death because the heart is no longer beating; no longer forcing blood to gush through veins and arteries and vessels. It gets lazy, becomes stagnant. Slowly slides down to the lowest point on the body; creates a reddish purple discoloration on the skin similar to a bruise, but not quite the same thing.
This is what I imagine the fifth level of the catacombs to look like: a reddish purple discoloration spread across my mother’s back.
This is what I see when I close my eyes and rub them a bit too hard for a bit too long. This is what I see when I look into a hole in the stone walls that is big enough to fit an infant. This is what I see in the reflection of the Trevi Fountain. This is what I see when I try to remember the shape of my mother’s sleeping body as it curled in on itself on top of a flat hospital mattress.
The color of death is not black, is not white. The color of death is the color of blood: the way it looks through the skin after having hours and days and weeks to slowly slink down into the lowest bend of the body.
This is the reddish umbra of the earth that the eclipsed moon hides behind. This is my body given for you. Take and eat. Do this is the remembrance of me.
Write a scary poem about Halloween? Weirdest ode you've ever seen!!! What is seen at Halloween? Bloodsucking Salem zombies, TV addict Abercrombies, Spiders and maggots in their hair, Crypts in the garbage tip over there, Witches floating round my room Fit right in here as they zoooooom............ Yes, my other car's a broom!!!!!!
Bit of fun, wrote it for a contest. Feedback welcome.
Yea I found a flaw! You like meats ****** raw! We go to sleep in the crypts, Hungry like black holes, like pits. We saw magic on the trees, Made by yellow bees. Then you took a fall, I ran to the tree, To cry and call. You fell to darkest torment, Your back was crook’d, Depression and anathemas I cooked. The jersey devil took me away, The ***** promises sounding like a horse’s bray. I laid in his arms on the way to his lair, Stepped with him into his hole, Ready to forget the dreaded lighted air. He preyed on me, A parasite to a catamite, My eyes drooped, A lonely boy sacrificed to a woeful rite. -*Firefly
Copyrighted September 15 2014 All rights reserved.