Ghosts wander the fluid molten corridors,
creaking spectral footsteps
echo across decrepit old brick,
stonework cracked, holes show the fiery pits,
the very depths where hope burns,
and agony flows in rivers.
Peering through you can discern the tone,
agonised moans, the splintering creak of bones.
Begging you, please!
Pleading. Incessant screaming.
Groaning. Release us quick.
The beast is feeding.
Trapped in this place
for the recently deceased.
A mortuary of purgatory.
Where down below
the great beast sleeps.
Most pass on just fine,
but the queue line is long,
and growing all of the time.
If they make it to the front
They are greeted with a form
and asked to sign saying
they weren't mistreated at any time.
Shown the great big neon sign
hovering over a thin line,
the voice repeating
saying follow through there.
The boundary between worlds,
a simple doorway, could be anywhere.
Just one of a million terrace house entryways.
But those that await,
have joined late,
or found themselves stuck
at the heaving arrivals gate,
they have a sadly more
gruesome fate.
The beast awaits.
Not the devil from storybooks of past.
This beast crossed the cosmos so vast.
Seeking a new place to rest,
he took up home. Buried himself deep
built himself a nest. Hungry.
He could only digest
the souls of those already dead.
Needing to feed,
he built this place,
where lost souls get led.
But some do make it through,
on pure luck and knowing
all the rules of a queue.
Don't push in,
the beast will arrive right on cue,
lead you off then devour you.
Mind your manners, your p’s and q’s,
no-one wants rude people
in their manor, and frustration brews
through the soul, giving the beast a tastier morsel,
which he will devour whole.
Mind your personal space,
Nobody wants your cadaverous body
rotting in their face,
and the beast will get in yours
savouring the taste.
Drool dribbling down his chin.
Those that make it this far
open the terrace door and
feel the rush of wind
against your face,
smell those flowers again,
you have been through the very depths
and returned into the light.
Back into peace,
through the thoroughfare
for the recently deceased,
where the beast
presides over feast after feast.
Whilst you take your first strides
to someplace otherwhere.
Thanks for reading
Follow this link for more.
https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff
You can find my New books
"Tales from the 44A" and "Stations
here
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0DBKXPN13/
and here
continue to do this.
Peace, Love & Poetry
Kyle
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