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Passions in Poetry

Pride in Hell

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Robin
Junior Member
since 08-07-99
Posts 48
Cardiff, Wales, UK


0 posted 08-09-99 12:55 PM       View Profile for Robin   Email Robin   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Robin

Pride in Hell

Noises at night, voices in corridors,
Shouts,
Screams.
Always close, always loud.
I hide from them in my bed, in the cold
But they sound so close.

They come to my door but I don’t let them in.
I know who they are.
“I’m from the Council.”
But I know who they are, I can see their knives,
Rat’s teeth in their hands
As the black crowds gather by my door.
I pretend I’m not there
But I can hear them talking,
Whispering,
Cursing.
I know what they want to do.

‘Great Grandmother Savaged at Home’

Foulness poured through the letter box,
Sewer minds hunting for sport.
I hide by the door, blanket wrapped round me
I won’t let them in.

I once had a cat, they killed him,
Tore him apart for his screams
I know what they are,
The vermin that want me,
Want my food
Want my body
Want me to let them in.

“I’ve got to read your meter.”

They killed Jason.
Perverted, hating
They are waiting
For me.
I can hear them scratching at the lock,
At the door,
At the windows.

They’ve poisoned my food
The meat’s all gone green
The fruit has turned black
But they can’t get in while I’m watching.
I’ve plugged up the bath, they get in if you don’t
I don’t flush the pan, let them crawl through my filth
I’ll smell them coming.
The windows are locked, I nailed them shut.
They won’t get through there I made sure.

“Mrs Johnson, It’s Pete from the Social”

But I’m cold, I’ve no power
The gas is gone and I sit in the dark
Watching for the chink of light when they come.
I listen while they curse at each other,
Fight their fights,
Fornicate with their children.
Satan prowls through those corridors
But I read the Book and keep him back
Sometimes I shake through cold and fear
the page won’t turn and a verse digs into my mind.

“Blessed are the weak, for they shall inherit the Earth.”

Terrible crimes, every day.

“Pensioner Raped in Her House”

Not me.

“Killer Still Not Found”

I know where they are, I can hear them as they plot.

“Pensioner Found Dead After Three Months.”

© Copyright 1999 Robin - All Rights Reserved
INclan
Senior Member
since 07-20-99
Posts 1046
Indiana, USA


1 posted 08-09-99 01:17 PM       View Profile for INclan   Email INclan   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for INclan

Excellent spiral into paranoia. You captured the insanity well. The delusional mind is indeed a foriegn landscape. The sad part is...."they" really did want to help.

INclan
Andrew Scott
Member Elite
since 06-24-99
Posts 2655
Redlands,CA,USA


2 posted 08-09-99 02:40 PM       View Profile for Andrew Scott   Email Andrew Scott   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Andrew Scott

"She was such a nice lady." "We haven't seen her for three months." "Don't know why anybody would live like that and not come out of the house." This and more on the six o'clock news, stay tuned.

At least that's how I read it. You hear about people who haven't stepped out of their house for the last twenty years, living like packrats, never throwing anything away... and you ask youself why whould anybody do that? I think your poem answers the question very well.
 
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