Gothic Fantasy
On a dare
full well knowing its reputation
the evils lurking up there
I took a small tent on my back
a bottle of whiskey cheese and meats in my pack
And just before sundown
with handshakes from friends laughter safe wishes all round
Ascended
Climbing steadily
the way quite long quite steep a fall would be deadly
Then at very summit tired sweaty bent
unpacked my small canvas tent
on the rock-smooth ground
And even at that early hour thought I heard in the distance
the howl of a wolf or a Baskerville hound
Growing dark now
Oh how black this night might be
a night with no moon
no rocks to give shelter no trees
Alone in that gloom I built a fire
a small fire with what few twigs I could find
Now again that distant howl and in my mind see
blazing red orbs in the midnight mist
looking out at me
adding doubt mounting fear cold sweat to my misery
Energy nearly spent
I found it impossible
in sheer rock
to drive wooden stakes for my tent
So I sat by my small blaze on that bare mountain
wrapped in a blanket
now too midnight-dark to try a descent
Just at the witching hour a strange wind came up
and though I hovered o'er
put out my fire
Then this smell
(aroma is far too nice a word)
on the wind
stench from the pit of HELL!
All Satan's demons in circle appeared
the night lit up by my smoldering fear
They shrieked laughed belched hot lava
Hear those hounds of Hell
and by winds-eerie music
dance their drunken bacchanal
Pierced by searing pitchforks body on fire
smoking pleading scorched down to an ember
It was the DEVIL'S voice close to my ear cursing me
the last I remember
But HARK now!
My rooster crows from my hovel's dirt floor
I'm in my bed
In poverty's room
far removed from the horrors the mountainous gloom
and safe from red SATAN'S eternal doom
Copyright © Daver Austin | Year Posted 2009
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