John Arthur Poet Narrative

The Carcass Catacomb and the Corpse Canals

In the dark recessions of the corpse canals, 
Where the breaking of bones sounds the eerie air like the clanking of bells, 
Where the tearing of tendons whistle and hiss, 
Echoing across blood water lakes laced with piss. 

Found deep within a Carcass Catacomb, where the restless undead candidly roam,
There are, unfortunately, the unlucky few who call this home. 

Sunken cadaverous corpses sink restlessly, forever seeking to escape and flee, 
If not entrapped within an infernal sea, suffering in blindness with naught to see. 

There! Deep below swim the loathsome drowned, cursed to breathe the contagions of innumerable ilk whilst eerily unfound. 
And so to the canals are they forever bound, with rotting bones whiter than milk,  
flowing in a surrendering of flesh, bleached flags of corpse silk.

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