marți, 1 septembrie 2015

Murder she wrote



It is the 1369th millennia
After the Grand Insomnia…
Year of the tenebrous Chaos…
New England is on ocean’s depths
Unfolding enigma’s of billion deaths.

Upon its ruins are new risen territories,
Deformed and tormented,
Of sinful ancestries,
And shapeless of shades…
And the name was suited:
The Coast or The Ribs of Hades.

The weaved shrouds of lies
Veil the naked truth
Between beastly cries,
Were darkened creatures roam in their youth–
A rotten corpse left
To be a feast famished worms,
Livid and lifeless in appearance,
Stiffened in enriched exuberance,
With the walls painted in theft
By viscous blood in cuneiforms.

Was it an alluring suicide?
Or was a vile deed by other hide?
An intrigue to all bystanders
By the unholy wanders:
Coins crucified to the ceiling…
The money in the walls abandoned untouched…
Oh! So alluring…
The police got them pouched.

The mystery had zounds of fogs and mists,
Eclipses and pouring with magic and fists;
But the Goddess Akasha had mercy upon their souls,
She set in a quill and sent a witch of a writer to solve the fouls.
Upon crafting the emerald charm inscribed in enchanted note
All could see that moment… It was MURDER she wrote!