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In the still, sanguine peak
Of an Autumn sunset
When russet, meek
Wilting reeds are wet,
Cold, silver stars of the nascent night
Gleam upon the graves
Like the glitter of billowy, cryptic waves.
Now and then, here and there,
Black bats dart
In the thick, dead air;
With their burial shrouds gleaming bright,
Phantoms depart
From their caskets in the moonlight.
Assembling in a mass,
They pace upon the amber grass,
Passing out of sight,
Delivered from their purgative plight.
Yet one dark being was left behind,
Despairing in his tortured mind
Over dire crimes which he committed.
The bats around him cursed as they flitted.
And in an insatiable, horrid state
Of infernal gluttony
Where it is far too late
(Where Satan swallows damned men whole)
For one to escape the fiery sea,
Those ghosts threw into the deepest hell
As the death bells did knell
One wicked, empty soul -
None other than the likes of me!
John Lars Zwerenz

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
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Not Explicit Content


written in the spirit of E.A. Poe! this blew me away. very dark and sinister building into a surprising climax of feeling! very descriptive, I really enjoyed this poem!

*hugs, Cat

"The Book of Styx" can be ordered and purchased on line at:

You are not a witch at all, are you? You're a lovely lady. And thank you for your kind words. John

author comment

kind Sir!


"The Book of Styx" can be ordered and purchased on line at:

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