Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Training It (A poem)

Step into the steel coffin bidding farewell to the light of day
Metallic teeth clamp tightly around fearing your escape
Moments pass and time stands still
Slowly swallowed deeper and deeper into its cavernous self
And, finally, the first level of hell

Voices of those who came before flutter around,
adhering to your already clammy skin
Broken time machines force you into queues,
questioning everything

When passing through Hades’ gates a fine must be paid
The gate keeper, with his vigilant eye,
tucked safely behind his oracle glass peers out at nothingness

Down deeper and deeper,
the temperature rises higher and higher with the smell of decay and loneliness fresh in your nostrils

Other lost souls surround you,
but remain unaware of the existence of god,
each in his own separate hell
You shed the limply fluttered voices with the roll of sweat down your back
Instead, you are covered in the worries of others and the worries of your own,
some converging, some alone

Booming voices commence
demanding respect, a response, anything,
from the lost souls, the gatekeeper, anyone
Again time passes, lined up like cattle for slaughter,
when will your number be called?

A rush, whirlwind of dust, more voices, ordering the cattle herd on
Hades intestinal snake slithers you through its dark cavities,
lulling you
Taking the herd further and further from sanity with its chortled vibrations contently
devouring all

Heat almost unbearable consumes even the most frigid of hearts
The sweat,
eyes darting anywhere but home,
touching anonymity
Time honored panic bubbling up
each knowing the journey may last for infinity

And then it stops
And then the gate opens
Released back into the sun and the rain
Free again, you smile along with the other souls, but only to yourself.

(J. Smith, copyright 2011)