Standing sacred amongst the dead,
A mausoleum built, protected,
It watched and witnessed the years as they passed,
It remained silent against life so vast,
A vigil reminder that the dead can be kings,
The wealth of many don’t think of such things,
Remembered in death as they were in life,
This fixture wept beyond their mortal sight.
Of broken hearts and dreamy fog,
The Mausoleum held inside, a bog.
-
I witnessed it upon the path I walked,
The dead-end, so to speak, it frightfully stalked,
It almost glowed a neutral grey sheen,
Aghast, I looked past with thoughts of being,
I emptied a heartache upon a pillar,
It reached to me and my hand now withered,
It called my name once in the silence,
The voice so hollow, in hallowed solace.
While this garden with dead did proliferate,
I opened what was once the tomb’s inner gate,
I stepped inside not knowing what came
Next for me in life’s theatrical game,
Surprised to see it held a catacomb,
I walked its halls in vain, entombed,
Cephalic attacks of thoughts herein,
Requested presence of answers therein,
Creatures and demons alarming inside,
We take the most identifying and hide,
We look to find we are the same,
In life, in presence, in thought, in vain.
-
I saw the bodies that rested yet here,
They seemed so at peace to sleep for years,
One cadaver at the end of a hall,
Seemed to beckon to me and warned of fall,
The steps leading down, treacherous at best,
I looked at it more as if it were test,
Test of strength, a test of will,
But my insanity would not keep me still,
Hidden between his skeletal palms,
Was a page ripped out of Bible, the psalms,
His favourite, I imagined, but it shook my spine,
Because he appeared so clandestine,
So surreptitious, the look upon his face,
He hid no remorse for passed mistakes
His teeth decayed like his mind did in life,
His bones festered and caused him great strife,
Were it not for the pedestal that held him up,
I wouldn’t have seen aside him a cup,
A cup full of sanguineous red,
The shuffles on the floor from where others fled,
I took his cup and drank from it well,
The taste of old blood, congealed, from Hell.
I then could not have had foretell,
That this would put me in a dreamlike cell,
I stumbled on the floor and rocked,
My thoughts of reality were then so blocked,
I couldn’t hold concept of anything,
I fell asleep and awoke in a dream.
-
The Nightmares, transgressions of the dead that lay
In this catacomb, suffered a fray,
A war between families large and askew,
The swords of fathers to sons imbued,
They bred them with hate and raised them with blood,
They fought their battles as sons best could,
One of them had their internals leave
Their stomach, and organs were bereaved,
Because of a ”friend” that with a knife,
Decided against his opposing strife,
He feigned a hug and with his fist,
Wrenched his weapon and did persist,
To tear his friend apart, depraved,
He cut out his heart and his father gave,
His son his burial rites,
The other family far from contrite,
Desecrated this mausoleum,
The battlefield turned to Coliseum,
The young fighting old and not knowing why,
The women and girls lost much and cried,
Their men would not have any of their words,
Ironic to not hear pleading songs of birds,
The families lost while being forewarned,
Both now lie entombed, both thought of as scourge,
The mischievous gaze the skeleton gave,
I now understood, I thought I was insane,
Even in Hell, he battles them still,
I learned not to let idiotic persistence cloud my will.
