The Price

This is a poem that I wrote during a time when I was feeling angry, lost and betrayed.  I’d heard about emotions that you felt in you bones, but until this moment did not understand what it meant.

The Price

The walls are covered with mold and moss

The putrid air clings to you like a wet robe

There are chains on the walls, though empty

On the table in the center of the room

There is a man who has sold his soul

And must now pay a heavy price

He is dressed in only a loin cloth

His hands and feet are chained

A woman stands near in a long black robe

Her face is hidden in the deep shadows of her hood

She is tending the tools that are needed

To extract this man’s soul

The irons are white-hot as they lay in the fire

The knives are newly sharpened and laid near at hand

The cat-o-nine tails is resting close by

The sweat of terror drips down the man’s face

Not knowing which torture will be first

Fearing the pain that is to come

The waiting is the most terrifying

The woman is in no hurry to begin

Her movements are leisurely and relaxed

But now the time has finally come

She is ready to begin

Slowly and gracefully she pulls back her hood

Such beauty takes the man’s breath away

Her face is serene and her smile is sweet

But in her eyes is nothing but madness

The man knows now a fate worse than death

His terror is mind numbing and complete

His screams will never end they say

For his is torment eternal

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