Hell by Antony Owen

Enter this kingdom through drawbridges of tongues.

Read the black text authored by man and weeping gods –

that dark rain, that black page of sky; that waxed stamp of sun;

drown in fathoms of iris moats that held a million tender memories.


Listen to folklore of ghosts leaving mouths as they are marooned

like clam black shells that died by rivers slowed by bone.

Look at the water it is full of red demons once white

as chrysanthemums on mile wide graves.


Please do not leave this kingdom that the greatest minds built.

We must rebuild our learning before new cities

and look into eyes of those who remain

to see hell is only made by the blind.


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