Under an ashen sky
vast rotted towers of stone
streets, overthrown, blown
strewn over this, once the world’s throne
upon the streets once their home.
Beneath a broken archway, upheld
by ruin, I beheld
a meld of madness and mortar, pain
plastered on pillars with grief ingrained
stone with flesh infused, profane.
Behind curtains of tattered man hide
sluggish rivers of red and black flows
hanging skulls in serried rows
bathed in blood as the foul river grows.
Atop the tenth rise,
what greeted my eyes
in sane faces flies
departs from reasoned ways, or sense
for I witnessed the people’s foul sentence
row by row, machine-caught, suspended
to feed the river via lives hook-ended.
From that hellish vantage,
upon one place, still whole, crazed
a place of power, of corrupt vice in loads
a place the sight of, resolve corrodes
the seat of god-kings self-proclaimed
rendered by power unrestrained
servants to every whim or wish insane
for at their feet ended the river of Pain.
A poem elaborating my feelings on various aspects of humanity, from the power-hungry to the poor, machines and madness. I’m currently deliberating whether to create a dark poetry anthology based around the vampire. Please comment some views on this, dear followers.