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Great Writing - Home > Poetry > Hymns From A Harbinger To The Damned
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Poetry
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| Hymns From A Harbinger To The Damned | |
| By ellie-jelly | ||||
| 30 September 2006 | ||||
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What once began as a hatred fuelled note to somebody, has actually turned into a gothic prose of sorts. I've grown to love this prose in many ways, one of the reasons being it's given me the chance to explore a darker side of my personality that rarely is on display. Hymns become haunting after dark. Walk alone through the valley of death, Or swim the river Styx. I’ll sound the siren to warn them you're coming. I’ll toll the bells to announce your arrival. March with the slew of a thousand plagues upon your head. Hymns become frightening after dark. This be the hymn of the damned. Let the fire of their waning soul consume until they're reduced to ashes. Unlike the phoenix, they will not rise. They’ll be scattered throughout the eons, Floating through the air never to settle or rest. Hymns become their solice. This hymn I shall sing for them. My broken violin I shall play to accompany me. Shrouded in a veil they can never grasp or see through. This be the hour the damned shall receive their hymn. It shall be theirs to wail along. To sing while they drown in oblivion. Hymns become their trance. Crawling through the pits of Hades, surfacing but never to feel the splendour. Nobody in the living realm for them, But the figure of a shrouded girl holding the lily for them. Shrink back from the reaper, fear the flower, fear the touch. Fall into the spiral, spin into oblivion. This be the fate of the damned, and this be their hymn. Hymns become the gospel for the life they once had. Fingers outreached to pull them in, then crumble to dust when we touch. This harbinger has done all she can. Now she will raise her voice this hour and sing for the lost ones. Become entranced in their tragedy. Tangled in the ether, the damned listen on. To the hymn that is meant for them. The one sent to collect now discovers the pity. I burn the stars out of the sky for them to not pray for hope. I pave the underground path for them to walk. For they shall not feel, they shall be numb. And I shall dance upon their graves and sing this hymn to them. And I shall play my broken violin to torment them. And I shall remain shrouded from them, so they cannot drag me into their depths. The harbinger sings this hymn for her damned.
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