Only the Classics
Only the Classics

Within the Gardens of Hell

A Poem

Within the Gardens of Hell

I have laid awake beneath the weight

Of nameless Gods staring upon my body.

Shivering at my limbs intertwining their own.

Naked whimpering things laying before me.

Having undressed seemingly holy deities,

Proving only to be squeamish demons,

Perhaps I have never known the forbidden fruits of Eden.

Those banished from eternal Heaven,

Of the piously judged,

Are damned now in the forsaken land,

Oh fiendish fools that I have loved.

Traumatized by tremendous sky,

Through which nine days Satan fell.

Perhaps I have only tasted the Spoils of War,

Within the Gardens of Hell.

I found my delirium walking hand in hand

With desert angels.

I became entangled with outlandish creatures,

They spoke in revelations of beginnings and ends.

I felt weary under the weight of milleniums

Whispered to me in ancient tongues.

They told me of what has only just begun,

Awaited crystal ship is being filled.

Soon will be the time to lie very still,

And watch the expanse as It contracts.

As if in a dream, I started to detach.

Away from those beings of intuition,

Who scratched and tore away the fabric of dimension.

But, alas,

My retreat was not in vain.

I was left with thought I could not explain.

Only that none of this was real.

Neither are the seven seals or the Infernal Snake.

Nor the seraphim and the words they spake.

For in their monologues,

I heard them say,

“I have eaten from the forbidden fruit of Eden.”

“I have just as well suffered the Spoils of War within the Gardens of Hell.”

I was compelled to tell them,

It was I who set fire to the trees in Eden.

It was I who fell the length of nine days.

Bringing flame raining down into the pits of Hell.

Yet such things do not exist,

In the same way I spoke of before.

I implore you to understand,

These are only delusions.

Experienced while lying in the desert sand.

surreal poetry
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Wyatt Manlove
See all posts by Wyatt Manlove