#anapest
I walked in the catacombs, dusty and webbed.
Medieval, a relic of culture that ebbed.
I stumbled across these sepulchers in line
like soldiers that fell on their frangible spine.
Among these stone coffins, a statue stood tall.
Some cracks on its elbows, still chained to the wall.
The fetters, they rusted on ankle and wrist.
The centuries wrapped it in mildew and mist.
I stared in its eyelids, they're shut in for good.
This sculpture, it creaked; and transfixed I just stood.
It opened its eyes, they were hollow, unfilled;
it groaned through the chamber so scratchy and chilled.
It mumbled in language that only the stones
can fathom the whispers on top of these bones.
Repeating its words in the voice of a mime,
this figurine's words became clearer with time.
Its jaw split to pieces, its breath reeked of clay.
I gasped, for its voice almost chased me away.
I leaned in to listen, I stared at its face:
"Get out! I beseech thee, get out of this place!"
More eager than scared of exploring this room,
I asked this old carving that's guarding this tomb,
"These caskets are chained as you are by their side,
I'm curious Sir, 'bout the secrets you hide!"
"Get out! I beseech thee, get out while you can!"
This statue insisted, but I had a plan.
"I ask you to speak of the treasures you guard,
why drive me away from this funeral yard?"
The statue just crackled and stared at the crypt,
its wrist pulled the chain and some fluid had dripped.
Its marble exterior softened to skin.
"I'm not keeping you out, I was keeping them in!"
The stench of cadavers and dust at the time
grew stronger with tremors that roared through the grime.
I heard all the souls in these coffins, these moans
that echoed so loud in this city of bones.
"This tomb smells your flesh!", cried the statue in dread,
"It needs one alive to watch over the dead
or else, they will rise and the living replace!"
It shattered itself into shards in that space.
A hand grabbed my leg from the quivering ground
and fastened my limbs 'til my ankles were bound.
My skin turned to marble; my veins, they have burned
The corpses, now hushed, to the rut they returned.
Now paralyzed slowly from toe to the neck,
my face is benumbed as I stay in this wreck.
So morbid this fate, as my movement has ebbed.
I stand in the catacombs, dusty and webbed.
Dec 4, 2025
Dec 4, 2025 at 10:03 AM UTC
It was late in November, and dad got a call
that a hiker near Teller had taken a fall.
He had outfitted many a party before,
and responding when needed was never a chore.
"It's an hour to Teller then one more by boat
I took ****** with me", he had left us a note,
for my mother and I had gone shopping in Nome
and he'd not make it back by the time we'd get home.
The next morning the troopers were summoned once more
for no help had arrived on that desolate shore.
When the search and rescue had responded in force
they had searched for the boat and my father, of course.
But the searching proved futile though traces were found
indicating that somehow the boat had gone down.
A survival suit floating unused simply meant
that my father'd not planned then to go where he went.
The men hunted for days- it was almost a week,
then the weather conditions became much too bleak.
Both my mother and I were consumed by our grief;
that our anchor was gone was beyond our belief.
All the neighbors brought food by and offered their prayers
but my mom would just thank them with blank distant stares.
Then she finally collapsed, at the end of her rope;
her religion had failed her, she'd run out of hope.
I tried to be supportive and brave through it all
then I'd walk by the Boozer's food bowl and I'd bawl.
And though Christmas was coming we'd set up no tree
to suggest something merry would be travesty.
When the storms had all passed and the winds had suspended
we borrowed boats belonging to men he'd befriended.
Those men wanted to know that at least they could try
but to say they held hope would be speaking a lie.
The sun's rays so golden when we set out that morn,
but as twilight was falling; most all were forlorn.
We had sailed out from Teller and cruised to the coast
and we searched likely places from least to the most.
'Twas the trip driving home that impacted my heart.
It was useless and dumb, why the hell did I start.
It was twenty-nine miles and a good hour's more drive
to a wilderness area where he couldn't survive.
I was young and impetuous, foolish as well
but if those men thought that the case one couldn't tell.
'Twas the day before Christmas, the morning was bright
I awoke with a vision I'd seen in the night-
without waking my mom I called my dad's best friend
"It is early I know, can we try it again?"
I made myself a lunch and left mother a note,
then under way again- a truck towing the boat.
Appointees to another task most likely sad
set about the uncompleted search for my dad.
I suggested that we this time bear to the west,
I had no explanation, don't know why- just guessed.
The landfall we had targeted, shrouded by fog
that cleared as we drew closer- and I saw my dog!
Unexpected tears fell and yet I did not care.
for then ****** retreated to lead us somewhere.
In a snow cave, injured, immobile, weak and thin
was my dad whom I had thought I'd not see again.
He'd survived with shared rabbit served raw and unspiced.
but said he'd never tasted a meal quite so nice.
And while he doesn't know how he got to the shore
he suspects he owes ****** that and much more.
"Twas the night before Christmas and one family knew
if you care for your dog he might take care of you.
© Lawrencealot - December 23, 2013
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 12:44 PM UTC