Dante's Hotel
29 July, 2003
Author: David -Doc- Byron
Inside this spinning room,
reduced to a common noun,
swallowed up by the giant belly of evil,
firey rains come pouring down.
My flesh now pardoned of it's flesh,
my blood runs deep in pools,
my lonely bones now charred and scraped,
once such a pompuos fool.
The pain is neverending,
fermenting inside this cell,
the loss so overwhelming,
inside my own private hell.
Candelabras of bone shine red,
wine glasses are filled with blood,
a feast for the dead, lost souls now fed,
screams come in a flood.
Firey tongues lick salty wounds,
picthforks pierce raw skin,
here such abominations abound,
in this room of sins..
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Comments on this poem/writing:
| luc (68.74.148.176) -- Thursday, July 3 2003, 08:29 pm i LOVED the third and last stanza. something about them just, i do not know the words for what i mean to write. but i must say it was a wonderful read. :) |
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