The chilled musty air torments the aging Saxon stone,
reverberating sounds run through the colonnade
whistling from aisle to aisle.
The moonlight drifts in through the stained window,
reflecting shadows dance, alleys of the mind
His blood began to freeze, he who dared to venture
with in this place, every hair upon his head
the clouds stole the moonlight,
murky darkness became impregnated with odour and
immediately a dim haze slowly expands
chancel, alter become vibrant and whole.
An insidious wailing began to circulate the nave,
Shadowy appearance transforming into a stage of
Vapourized environment giving way to an old monochrome
snapshot of sepia subjects, frozen in a timeless layer
Animated the motionless figures began to
labourious breathing accompanied each macabre
With it a sickly vileness began to fill the holy place
as if in defiance of the almighty himself, defiling
his very name, his very existence.
An eerie monotonous sound began to gather substance,
full bodied harmonious metre giving one hypnotic
Yet a lucid awareness of the grotesque scene was even
apparent, when at the organ keyboard a faceless
incoherent figure played.
The wailing sonic abated, yet more illuminate the
became, whilst the macabre cloaked figure silently
cynical fingers unveiled the hooded cowl.
Exposing (a recognizable face?) decaying distortion
oozed from deep lackluster eyes, eyes that
commenced to penetrate the lone onlooker.
Motionless lips began to pierce his mind, there where
body laid it held him captive, grotesque rotting forms
began to draw closer.
Each one in a various state of decay, yet recognizable
from a bygone age “Welcome my son to the nether
His brain echoed.
“Mother!” He cried out in stark desperation, rivers of
perspiration flooding down his back, as the
unfolding becomes apparent.
“Mother!” He cries once more, she moves slowly from
organ towards him, festering carrion falling to the
ground, soon to become deaths decaying fodder.
She stooped over him, her long naked fingers clawed at
his face gently, cold scabrous lips searched
verily for his.
Warm lips them that still pulsated with channels of
life, temptation indeed for this mother
of impending life with in death.
The wailing turned to sweet music
odorous filth became as fragrant wine,
decaying flesh smooth and pliable
where there was fear, now only love,
family, friends, all gathered in this place
patiently waiting for new blood. “His blood!”