Catacombs Poems - Poems about Catacombs

catacombs of fear lost in my own illusion a downward spiral...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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"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...

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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...

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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...

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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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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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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...

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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...

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

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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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