Catacombs Poems - Poems about Catacombs

Catacombs of Fear

catacombs of fear
     lost in my own illusion 
          a downward spiral

Ossuary

Stone staircase winds down into gloomy murk
Curtain of cobwebs festoon ancient door
Spiders abode well hidden yet, they lurk
Curiosity wins, cannot ignore.

Silence profound as darkness invades light
Ossuary resides behind portal
Hollow eyes empty, sadness at their plight
Realisation I am mere mortal.

Labyrinth of catacombs under street
Untold stories like a library here
Aeons of sadness neatly placed to greet
Tourists who

The Catacomb

Catacombs, slumbering dead
Slipped from life emotions shed
Blistering dark, insects creep
Dead will all their secrets keep.

Concrete world laden grey
Occupants have had their day
Guardian angel made of stone
Feelings nil for those old bones.

Silent wait 'til judgment day
Undertone of great dismay
Dust motes dance display macabre
Ghostly song from long-dead bard.

Tourists come they're not naive
'tis their fate they do perceive
Footsteps

Lost In the Catacombs

Eerie voices underground
strangely invite 
yet they are nowhere to be found.
Broken bones, broken souls
Lamenting memories
Lost in the catacombs.
Dark elegies written on walls,
Unheard songs that were never recalled
The hymn of unfortunate souls.
The truth will likely be hidden
in the dark alleys where questions remain unanswered
Now, Then...Forever

LeiStrauss2020

A Foggy Mist and a Chilling Sound

A Foggy Mist and a Chilling Sound

Walking down the dimly lit street,
a foggy mist rising around my feet.
Soon the fogs so thick, I can't see,
walking blindly, by the river,
that's running past me.

Street lamps can just be seen,
then I hear a scream.
The intensifying fear of something
so unholy, chillingly cold.
Screams could be heard through the mist filled

At the Seat of the Catacombs of Amygdala

 
"At the Seat of the Catacombs of Amygdala"



 
"...the curse ruled from the underground down by the shore
And their hope grew with a hunger to live unlike before..." The Curse



Violet Black the night is still 
diving through oceans 
of stars now waking
violins soaring in my
heart’s crater speed to 
the seat of Amygdala
Descartes moving closer
anticipation,the

Constructing Catacombs

Constructing Catacombs


Desirous death, a submersed breath, the walls in a carious crumble
Living life, a surgical serrate strife, as we stand surreal and stumble
Baneful blood, a feverous flood, the temerarious towers will tumble
Terranean tears, fertile fermenting fears, a famished fatalistic fungal

Corpses mounting high, Angels in the sky, reuniting dead and divine
Perpetual praying, love’s lost laying, as

Catacombs

Sunlight we merely dream of
here amongst the bones
with the memories of the past
these haunted caverns
dank in their prisons

Acceptances specter
teaches our children
there before the pulpit of skulls
deaths contract is written

Reincarnations end pays the toll
rigmarole I see in their eyes
praising as such, this dry arid dust
for in the gloom of their minds
a festival of cadavers
explains their lives

Built

The Catacombs of Paris

THE CATACOMBS OF PARIS
Their skeletoned remains, in disarray,
are numbered more than any count can say
and from their numbers, Paris grew
to be what she has grown into,
each stone's been cut and raised from where it lay.

Down in the dark, beneath each cobblestone
there lays a death that no one should have known;
and their remains are dried, to

The Catacombs of Paris

THE CATACOMBS OF PARIS
Their skeletoned remains, in disarray,
are numbered more than any count can say
and from their numbers, Paris grew
to be what she has grown into,
each stone's been cut and raised from where it lay.

Down in the dark, beneath each cobblestone
there lays a death that no one should have known;
and their remains are dried, to

Death In the Catacombs

DEATH IN THE CATACOMBS
Beneath the gloom of Paris streets
where death's the only game to play;
the light of Heaven never meets
in time of night nor time of day;
    down in the catacombs I roam
     and here I call this dark my home.

This place is where my need runs free,
to

Stygian Doubts-The Catacombs of Saint Francis, Lima, Peru

The rottenness of it all is no less foul for having been bleached white. This is the conclusion I come to. I walk with a scarf covering my mouth through the dimly lit catacombs of the faithful. The arched ceiling holds a dangling string of incandescent bulbs which cast a sickly yellow glow on my

Catacombs of Paris

THE CATACOMBS OF PARIS
Their skeletoned remains, in disarray,
are numbered more than any count can say
and from their numbers, Paris grew
to be what she has grown into,
each stone's been cut and raised from where it lay.

Down in the dark, beneath each cobblestone
there lays a death that no one should have known;
and their remains are dried, to

Dishwasher Catacombs

Melted butter
Missed crumbs of toast 
Blue-ribbon cooking 
In dishwasher catacombs
Remnants of delicious memories

Catacombs of Paris

THE CATACOMBS OF PARIS
Their skeletoned remains, in disarray,
are numbered more than any count can say
and from their numbers, Paris grew
to be what she has grown into,
each stone's been cut and raised from where it lay.

Down in the dark, beneath each cobblestone
there lays a death that no one should have known;
and their remains are dried, to

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