VG (24/01/1979 / Epsom, East Surrey)

Another Morbid Tale

And I sit at the table,
With the immortals,
A chalice heralds
The gothic chandelier
Illuminating the dimly lit room.
Sanguinary
We are sanguinary.
The golden chalice holds the blood of the immortals,
Intricate chalice in-laid with gemstones
I slice my wrists, with a silver blade,
And lean towards the chalice
She accepts my blood with a morose smile.
Tenderly, I hoist her
I offer her to the god of the four winds,
I bring her to my lips,
And taste life anew
The angels below,
Play their symphony
In hellish growls
And herald my indoctrination,
Into the cult of the immortals.
When the sun refused to shine,
And the moon refused to glow.
On that day,
I ascended the throne of immortality

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Comments (1)

Such a strong and powerful message here, a turning of tables. This one brought up anger inside me, but also a feeling of overcoming something terrible, a feeling of victory, a lightening. A poem of hope and positivity. I enjoyed the way it progressed. A great read, VG. Well done. Love, Fran xx