Entered!

Entered these catacombs that night

with a camcorder they went

into the pitch blackness unprepared

endless miles of passageways

millions of human remains within here

where most would stay well clear!

 

Did they hear a voice within their head

taking over the mind and body

family and friends now a faint memory

long abandoned any sanity

onward in a zombie state compelled

deeper into where satan dwelled!

 

Not even experienced guides would dare

go to many unexplored sections

too easy to get lost no communications

nobody would hear your cries

into the narrowing trails just wandered

any reality was now blurred!

 

Were they not alone hearing deep growls

their only vision through screen

panicked dropped the camera running

or maybe chased then swallowed

into the blackness forever perplexing

for many it became vexing!

 

The footage leaving no clues to who

making you feel claustrophobic

there alone lost forever never found

that growing desperation

breathing becoming more strained

knowing within they remained!

 

#TheFoureyedPoet.

 

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Jean!

There the elderly woman sat staring

watching the daily surge

of humanity walking and driving by

not able now to converse

within their own perpetual routine

few ever noticed Jean!

 

When she was young an open space

a village small so quaint

there with parents and four siblings

father a farm labourer

mother the house was her domain

never did she complain!

 

It may have been a humble abode

such a long time ago

reminiscing of years long passed

now the only survivor

had never known any other home

never wanted to roam!

 

For the few who dared to glance

to see what was within

usually saw the derelict eyesore

a decaying old house

boarded up tight well protected

years before erected!

 

Oddly the large lounge room window

was partly uncovered

where Jean sat watching as always

her spirit here remained

it was her home did not want to leave

still existed did believe!

 

Some sure there was something here

a shadowy outline

how the decades passed so quickly by

as the legend grew

of a ghostly figure sometimes seen

not realising it was Jean!

 

Here the dead observed the living!

 

The Foureyed Poet.

 

 

Before Me!

There before me she sat all alone

on the station platform

nobody else was about to be seen

so pretty yet a sad stare

was distracted as the train neared

glancing back had disappeared!

 

A tightening of my stomach retching

such pain overcame me

distressing images in my mind’s eye

of an endless despair

on that empty platform standing alone

feelings never before known!

 

There was no train had been imagination

for a few seconds saw

below on the line the body of the woman

then she was gone

shaken became rational once again

so came a real train!

 

Leaving that place the memory has remained

lingering impressions stayed

was it the restless spirit of a suicide victim

caught in that fatal moment

forever etched on the fabric of the location

was my only explanation!

 

To this day the images still haunt me!

 

The Foureyed Poet.

 

 

 

Reputation!

His reputation had followed his career

even since he left the army

boasting they had taught him to shoot

given a dishonorable discharge

for an unlawful killing he did not agree

not listening to his plea!

 

Through his skills and knowledge of guns

he became a sniper for hire

as a mercenary fought in countless battles

but it never sat easy slaying

because every victim he killed remained

haunting him why unexplained!

 

He was not a believer in the paranormal

this he kept telling himself

at first just an odd glimpse like a shadow

certain it was his conscience

but as years passed were becoming vivid

making his personality frigid!

 

As the date of his fiftieth birthday neared

the dead seemed more real

than all the living he daily encountered

becoming evermore distant

from the reality of a once methodical life

his whole being took a dive!

 

Becoming decrepit for one still classed as young

the once untarnished reputation

crumbled becoming more inaccurate and sloppy

taking out the wrong targets

unable to detect fact from any reality he grasped

in his hands the gun he clasped!

 

Unable to distinguish those living from the dead

fired the bullitt entered his brain

he would rather face the many he slaughtered

than see them clearly all around

his mind had finally gone could live no more

would he enter heavens door?

 

And for eternity walk the path of damnation

or maybe he would find salvation!

 

The Foureyed Poet.