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!