PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

*Performed by the artists band, The Crimson Order



Into formation the figure flows

And oft it shakes when the wind blows

A crooked leperous hand unfolds

Reaching out of the well of souls



And out of the mire it climbs and sits

Atop the foul and stenchful pit

And bellowing out of it's hollow throat

A shrill yet shallow wavering note



Creaking arms hold a pipe

As smoke plumes upwards in the night

Shimmering wisps of iron grey

Into the wind, dissareyed



The tainted voice begins to speak

As ghost-white hands form a peak

A tale of horrors long ago

A tale of Dante's well of souls



The earth was without form and void

And darkness cast over the face of the deep

Like a snapshot from an old polaroid

Black sunflowers bend and weep



In a garden of cultivated tears

Grows an orchard of deepest fears

And before me stood this nightmare

But I could only stare



He told me of the pristine garden gates

He told me of beauty, and of fate

The way things were before they died

The day that Warlock fell from the sky



"In the well of souls, you never grow old

Allthough you rot amidst the mold

Your body decays and threads are frayed

But no, you never grow old"



"In the well of souls, the bodies float

Their eyes are white as snow

Our hair iron gray, and rotting skin

Come join us at the show"



"In the well of souls, you re-live hell

Time over and over again

In this God forsaken well

We re-live our past sin"



And crawling up from the well

Came spawning my deepest fears

An army of decaying corpse shells

Drawing all to near



"Join us!" they cried, in misery

And I, simply longing to be free

I lay at my side my good shepherd

Touched their hands and became a leper