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Beware, out-Lander for thy tread on the sacred ground,
Of Louisiana, guarded by the ghosts of the Mississippi,
And here the dead tell know tails, of the living's returning,
After adventuring into the darkness of the night.
Rattle them bones, sister voodoo woman,
Black magic's high priestess, cast asunder the 
Ivory teeth of the white devils, across the streets
Of old New Orleans, behold the ancient city of lost souls.
Hidden beneath the glittering mask, of La Carnival,
It is the celebration of the dead, my friend, and faceless
Figures, do toss the beads of evil, to the lustful
Crowds gathering, for Mardi-Grad's extravaganza.
Phantom walkers, without names or emotions, spirit stalkers,
Roaming the old French quarter, seeking to catch the
Innocent traveler unaware and unprotected. 
A wall of realism and illusion, thin is the veils that divide
Light and darkness, sheer vaporous mist of transparency,
Existing in this the forgotten realm, where southern
Comfort invites the living to visit, but never allows them
To leave alive.
As the flickering rays of twilight fades, swallowed whole
By the spectral invaders, the creatures of light seek refuges,
Holy places, as the church bells ring, calling unto the innocent
Make heist to salvation's shelters of grace.
In he city's center, lays a dry leathery organ, sunken
And misshapen, feel the rising, the awakening of the
Heart of evil emerging, its veins arteries made of 
Cobble stones brick, thus are the webbing's of streets leading, 
Unto the deadened heart, metamorphosing it alive once more.
Slowly bloods spiritual essence rushes through
These ethereal veins, reaching this source most
Evil, it owns this city of lost souls, unto the tolling
Hour of dawns first rays of light, crossing the horizon.
Red bricked buildings lay side by side one 
Another, in a design of Gothic manipulation, feeding
Stations made cozy for the living and dead to reside
Within, as the crimson curtains blow freely from the 
Inside out, welcome my friends to the French quarters,
The threshold's crossing, between life and death.
Hear the low thumping of the Jamaican drum,
Mixed with African tongue, chanting in rhythm's
Echoing breeze, softly spoken in whispers are the spells
Of misfortune, a vow's crimson promise, written in blood
Long ago, a demonic pack made between the spiritual native
Inhabitance and the dark heart of the Cajun Bayou.
On bloods throne the Grim Reaper does so sit, next 
To his bride, the Queen known as Mrs. New Orleans,
Both laughing in tandem, with the musical chorus
In this requiem of the dammed.




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  1. Date: 10/21/2014 8:56:00 AM

    A 7 and a Fav Cheryl. This moves the October fest, or Halloween fest up a few notches. Yes, you bring the darker side of the city of Lost Souls to life so vividly. Now this Is one canvas I would like to enter In the guise of the beast. I would be at home In the visions you have been creating. You give a living pulse to each of these pieces and this one has such startling reality. I walk the streets of your darkness and I see all. Have a good day. Catch you later. Your friend always....MIKE.
  1. Date: 10/20/2014 10:17:00 PM

    Cheri . . . I just tried Manible again. The glitch is on PoetrySoup's end. Right after the text of your poem ends, there is "no" Post Comments section at all . . . completely blank. Just wanted to let you know, as you asked!! I did read Manible and liked it much and found it to be quite chilling!! Cheers, Gary
  1. Date: 10/20/2014 9:05:00 PM

    You are scarying the hibbie jibbies out of everyone Cheryl, I for one happen to think this is your forte, you and my husband have something in common, he spends weeks planning for this big event, take care my friendxxx
  1. Date: 10/20/2014 8:56:00 PM

    Cheri . . . A quite beautiful, detailed, and most frightful write here tonight!! Brilliant my dear and a big "7" from me. BTW, That other poem you've asked me to read has been a problem for me to access it to comment on it. Each time I've tried, your text comes up, but the Post Comments box is not available (at least not for me). I suspect it might be a glitch on the Poetry Soup end. All the best with your dark writes my friend!! Cheers and Spill Ink!! Gary