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Friday, July 30, 2010

The Carnival of Souls




A synchronized crescendo,
Of thunder claps draw near.
Streaks of light fill the skies,
With a sense of fear.

Crashing, dashing,
Darkness, flashing light.
Crashing, gnashing,
Day turns into night.

Persistent pulsations,
Deep within my head,
Slowly wane then dissipate,
Fears no longer fed.

An overwhelming rumble,
Solid sheets of rain.
I stagger then I stumble,
Reeling from the pain.

Crashing, flashing,
Feeling much less tense,
Gnashing, mashing,
Making much less sense.

As the thunderstorm subsides,
There's a calm refrain.
In my mind I recognize,
The faint sound of a train.

Clattering, pattering,
Pecking at my brain.
Spattering, battering,
My mind's window pane.

There comes a sudden rapping,
At my closed front door.
What is really happening?
I can't tell for sure.

I cracked the door slightly,
To see who might be there.
A tall man bows politely,
Our eyes lock in a stare.

I feel like I am floating,
Floating in the air.
Levitating, loathing,
How I got up there.

Suddenly I notice,
Blood is everywhere,
Bleeding, feeding,
Visions I dare share.

The tall man isn't breathing,
He's just standing there.
I have a sensual seething,
As windchimes fill the air.

Darkness now surrounds me,
Silence fills my ears.
A numbness now abounds me,
The fervor of despair.

I can see slight movement,
Sirens start to whine,
Blinking lights are proof that,
I am still alive.

Now I hear faint music,
A calliope of songs,
Rhythmic, blind amusement,
I sense that something's wrong.

Uniforms approaching,
Suggest I am someone.
They point weapons at me,
As if I have a gun.

My body has no feeling,
As I hit the ground.
I'm looking a the ceiling,
Trying to look around.

Men are looking at me,
Some just turn away.
I don't know exactly,
What to do or say.

I still hear the music,
It's slowly getting cold.
I feel like I am losing,
The life I dearly hold.

There's a light above me,
Pulsing, pulling fast.
God I hope you love me,
Need I have to ask?

There's no more horizon,
No moon or setting sun,
The tall man's hands and eye's are,
Guiding everyone.

As he collects tickets,
Bells begin to toll.
Welcoming the wicked,
To the carnival of souls.



Copyright © July 2010
Kevin Mooney


kmm001
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