Maelstrom
This is the shop of shattered illusions,
Ante room to a peculiar type of hell;
Enter here full of hopes
To have them all dispelled.
It is the stuff of nightmares,
Your wildest darkest dreams,
The door bell greets you
With a cacophony of screams.
The track in the background
Is of a clanking rattling chain
Accompanied by the moans
Of a being in utter pain.
As soon as you enter
The desire is to escape
From the Stygian gloom
Of this place of mental rape.
Where every second is
A week, every minute a year
And a writhing shaken brain
Silently yells get out of here.
Outside of the doorway,
Ashen faced shaking white
They all turn for a surreptitious
Last confirmation sight;
But the shop of shattered illusions
Doesn't stay anywhere for long
And before they can see it
It's disappeared, disintegrated, gone.
Copyright © Terry Ireland | Year Posted 2022
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