Death’s Lonely Embrace
Misery, Misery, Misery…
Epic Poetry
Misery, Misery, Misery…
Down in the darkest parts of the silent cell
Where souls are trapped miserably in hell
Stood a wicked warlock so foul and weak
Isolated, he started to call out to his freak
The freak was locked behind prison bars
And he didn’t stir or laugh; making no wars
But he stirred and woke from his slumber
Tired, he stretched and turned like lumber
Seeing his wicked old friend smiling with greed
He wanted to see what the old nasty guy did need
“What do you want?” asked the nasty freak in a bind
Wanting to know what the warlock hid in his mind
“I need the keys,” he exclaimed in the silence below
“The guards keep it up above you and as I quite know
They dangle above your wicked head you can grab
At the silver keys devoid of shining or glimmering grand.”
The witchery freak did turn his crooked head
And saw the dead keys with a skull on the end
He turned back his head and told the warlock
“I shall retrieve it, master,” up he went with a knock
He reached and clung to the steel bars of dread
With his bony fingers so stale and awfully dead
But couldn’t grab just the handle or tip
Quitting, he stepped down awfully quick
“Fool,” laughed the warlock so wicked and mean
You need to grab it, so if only you were lean.
So get back up there or I’ll curse you good myself.”
As the freak looked up seeking a way to the shelf
In the darkened room filled with death and old bone
He could see an old spear from ancient times of Rome
And he grabbed awfully slowly with a lazy, difficult reach
Suddenly he took hold but a shadow ran like a leech
A huge rat of terrible size almost bit the wretched freak
But with a flash, he scooped up the weapon so weak
As his skinny body and his skin did stick right to him
He brought up the spear reaching out for a tree limb
The freak tried hooking the old miserable keys
But then hit them as they fell down with ease
Then he stooped low and did actually feel
Around the old rusty and cold floor so real
He found it and grabbed the metal solid key
And it shined in the light, the warlock did see
“Hurry, my gross man. Make awful haste!” he hissed.
The freak did as he saw but a guard came with a twist
“What are you two blabberin’ about?” The skeleton man said.
He wore silver armor in the cold damp cell as he looked unfed
A dull bright ugly shine it did have as the magician saw
“Nothing, my good chap,” he said as his eyes gave a gnaw
To the keys, the freak did have in awful hand
Suddenly, he realized he didn’t have a wand
Abruptly, he hid it behind his scarred back
“Nothin’, just talkin’ about good ol’ days, jack!”
“Good old days?” snarled the white-washed skeleton guard
“There were no good ol’ days, after all you were charged
With magic and mischief-seeking always for controls
Down in the mire of evil by killing the innocent souls.”
“And you,” said the guard pointing to the wrinkly man
“In life, you ate and maimed them leading to your clan
You raped and toiled throughout all the foreign parts
Destroying the dignity and infecting all with your darts”
“So don’t tell me about the good happier old days,
Because they weren’t. You only hope your ways
Would be changed but never will it, I tell you
Having your chance, you’ll never get it back. Boo-hoo!”
“But what about you?” said the old shriveled warlock
“Why are you here below guarding evil with locks?
Were you a spirit or a man who lived Before?”
As he questioned he looked at his friend once more
And the freak dumb and hard of hearing did see
His master called out to him as he told him to be
Quick as a jackal as he handled this guard guy
To press him and speak to him while he did try
To open the gate and then run as fast as he could
Then the guard turned to the sorcerer and said quite good,
“I was a man who killed and tortured the souls in Rome
Before the one who was Light rose to his royal throne.”
The freak bent down and picked up the metal lock
And turned striving for a simple turn of the clock
And as he struggled it suddenly ticked as he bailed out
The guard never noticed and he almost got found out
But he fled down the dark blinding sewer tunnels
Escaping, he looked down and saw big gunnels
Swimming alongside a black murky filthy water
A shout rose up, “Quick an escapee! Don’t saunter!”
The freak ran through and came on the other side
As he tumbled and tripped on some carcass hides
Collapsed, he was in the filth, and was disgraced
Guards of bone picked him up with angry face
He squirmed and flailed his bony little arms
They threw him back and ceased the alarms.
He screamed in horror and misery returned
His ugly capture was never to stop, he learned
“Stop, you foul monster of woe,” cried the skeleton.
“You won’t ever get out again, I am very certain.”
As the warlock grimaced and mocked his own slave
“You terrible and unbearable thing. You’re not brave!
“I told you to knock the guards, run, and let me out!
But now in your instinctive pride, they got us in a rut.
Now look at us, no better than when we first got caught.
Of the sight of the shining keys,” as he bowed distraught.
Laughing the guard then said, “I hope you had fun.
“But if you could ever manage to escape and run
Even if you could get past all of us and head to the top
There is a gate that never opens-” Suddenly with a stop
An old ragged troll who was in charge as Director of the Ward
Stepped in and as he rose was a giant among the evil horde
“Nice to make your ugly acquaintance,” he said with a grin
“But let me take over and speak with these fine gentle-sins.”
The guards nodded and stepped right out the door
It closed hard, and the mighty troll hid his own sores
He pulled up a spider-like chair and leaned in really close
“So, do you find it miserable here, more clever than most?”
The warlock began, “I am, but not that ugly buffoon!”
Pointing to the freak all shriveled against the pale moon
Misery was now his own rule of his eternal damned life
Which is what he now endured under the Man of Strife
“Tell me,” the giant ugly troll said. “What did you even plan?
To run without any strategy? Not even does the heart of Man
Choose to be so stupid as you have now dreadfully done.
You aren’t smart if you think, clearly, you’ve never won!”
“You can’t keep us here,” said the deformed man
“Oh, yes I can,” the troll said with a nasty deadpan
“You’re mine, I own you, says the cruel terrible master.
Which you chose to serve in your mortal lackluster
“Upon that earth which the Creator did make
Away from any goodness, in slumber never to wake
And now you are here as you chose quite unwisely
To suffer torment away from virtue as you lived nicely
“This is your home, your abode which you made
In the disgusting world of the dangerous maid
Who impales us with her Son by providing her way
In the light to bring home her children who stray
“In her world, you did not want to truly play
So you decided miserably to go your own way
Away and indulging in the awful flaccid forms
Those are perversions which the natural world warns.”
“Miserable wretch,” cried the he-witch. “Come to gloat?”
The troll slapped his knee as he laughed like an evil goat
“Oh, yes indeed, will I, until the final age will untruly come
And then when all is awful and suffering unfortunately done
“I will cut you up and feed you to my little nasty pets
Of which I am going to enjoy as we all have made bets.
But now I shall leave you until I feel miserably bored.
Which is all the time as you know,” then took a sword
And it flamed with fire and struck the warlock’s hand
That rested upon the cold bars of the cell ready to bend
Incredible atrocities with cruel care as the troll laughed
Then the warlock cried, he held his hand in fear of the shaft
Then the troll turned and struck the prison bars like a bell
The freak went quickly into the corner of his little cold cell
“Please, please do not strike me, my awfully filthy man!
I haven’t done anything, no reason to hit me with a wham!”
“Nothing? Are you sure, you little freak, sitting in your steeple
You mingled yourself with tarot cards and much, much evil
You truly did find pleasure in the killing of vulnerable things
Even if you could mask it with addictions or diamond rings”
“It still haunted you and you did bleakly partake
In all the miseries that evil fully does wide awake
No nothing, except what the law does demands
Of which unfortunately all reality itself stands”
“So in our malice, we did trick you into doing
All our woes, we threw at you like pudding
Devouring it all like it was a crisp sweet candy well
You destined yourself to this here prison called hell.”
Then he struck him and the sword pierced his wounded side
Pain was there but he didn’t bleed unlike the Groom Bride
But it remained all the same as life was Before
Before they died in that nasty and bloody war
Then he left the cage and closed the electric gate
He laughed, “I hope you all will learn to hate
Me and my fellow creatures but we do not care
If you are neither comfortable nor can easily scare
“For we have one rule: to be cruel and to torture
Endlessly and relentlessly without time or order
We have fun here, O wicked fun!” he closed the door
And left the two there on the dark and lonely floor
The freak turned to his miserable and old friend
“What did I tell you? I hope you would understand
That we are trapped here and never could mend
Our twisted lives, we have made our final end.”
Then the nasty decrepit sorcerer stirred in his metal bed
“I thought I could avoid him, our once master head
I thought he would love our cleverness and our foul
But no, he really hates us; wants us to suffer in his cowl”
“I thought he would approve and grant us access
To his dark and mysterious lair high on the precipice
But nay, he did not when we entered the great fire
For he himself is doomed and in his own deadly mire”
“He is chained down below in the inescapable ice
Just like us, he is a prisoner, and his nose full of lice
Never to forgive and filled with wickedness at no end
Desiring only to capture us wretched souls to bend”
“Us to his will and not to the good Most High’s
But even if I somehow could return I would defy
The true Master’s will and would surely not comply
Because of my own stubborn will, if I could, why?”
“Because I enjoy misery and away from the unfair One
To not delight in his praises I am now satisfied and done
And so I will hang my head here and endlessly sob and cry
For I do not desire to see you or anyone even if I could try.”
And there, in the dark and miserable moldy place
Where no one dares go in Death’s lonely embrace
Loneliness, fear, and anger are the aroma of the air
Trust me, you don’t want to end up down in there.
Email: aaronmichaelthomas333@proton.me
Open to gigs.
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