Purgatory (circa 2001 or 2002)

[Doreen Peri]

I followed paths until I came
to walls without a face or name;
confronted by one hollow vow
and yet I knew not when or how
I got entwined in smoke's grenade;
a chasm dark with sanguine shade.
I stand, encompassed by the blood -
intrepid chest ripped open, rudd
and wrath for naught, surrounding me.
I'm lost! I scream my fervent plea.

The silence answers once and then
again, without a trace of peace within.
I'm lost! I mouth the words
and watch the empty void succumb
to canvas blank with echoes
twisted twice within the
balance of the numb
and void which rattles though my ears.

I'm lost! I scream to ghosts who
laugh aloud at sordid ache and tears.

Who put me here? I hear my voice relay.
Who took me from Act II and framed this play
with shadows livid by a drape?
Pray tell, how shall I soon escape this
dank and dismal portal where I stand?
Dear Lord, how ever did I end up blind
within this barren space surrounded by a tomb?
I look around and yet I see no windows in this room.

The winds of time swift whisper past my head
with notes of terror amplified by lies.
If but I knew my spirit were now dead,
I'd sleep 'til death devours my languid sighs.

This was your choice, the voice it rings
within my inner ear it sings.
This was your choice, it soon repeats,
the turmoiled notion twice entreats.
And just as quickly as I had arrived without a clue
of role or lines,
an entity not recognized
wraps 'round my skin and eyes
and intertwines my heart,
so festered scorned.
This was your choice, it echoes
through the night until the morn
becomes my bed.
The wind, it pounds, and smites me
in the head and down I go through
winding tunnels, triplicated,
tossed into a fire.

And here I burn
and watch my blistered skin
coil 'round me like a spire.
My pulse is quickened blurred by truth
of wrathe and rancid ire.

My body's bathed with flame.
I look upon it while it burns and wonder
who's to blame.
This was your choice, the voice soon haunts again.
This was your choice, it echoes in my ear.
I look down to my feet and see
that I'm still standing here.

I laugh aloud! Aha! I now proclaim!
I've made this place myself!
This place of Sheol's a province I did name!

No sooner than I spoke those words,
the flame did quell and cease.
The windows opened wide and Hell
was sucked into a nether space and
disappeared with fast release
and there I stood, alone in peace
awakened from my tomb.

I followed paths until I came
to walls without a face or name
then found myself alone with
distant mirrors of my fate.
I was entwined in smoke's grenade;
a chasm dark with sanguine shade.
then quenched the flame with quick escape
before it was too late.

A psalm of praise exudes from cooling skin.
The Lord holds tight indemnity within.

[Steve Plonk]

Doreen, your "Purgatory" poem is outstanding. I'm partial to rhyme & meter. The style reminds me of a synthesis of Dante & Emily Dickenson. I am amazed by the sentiment
& pathos in the poem. One of these days, before I kick the bucket, I'd like to attempt
a poem even half as good as this one. It's been on my bucket list.

[dadio]

They don't write poetry like this much these days. This is very good, without sounding old hat or too Keatsian. Dante does come too mind, but less Catholic, yours having less pleasure in the damnation.