Month: March 2016

The Seventh Circle

Within the darkness
A white candle shines
the mirror in my hand breaks;
shards of snakes slither around my wrists.
Demons snarl in the emptiness
the abyss that feels infinite
embraces me like claws
I search.
Looking for her
as I come upon a horrid forest
among the hanging souls
I yell at her,
but she did not turn.
She walked deeper into the forest
moaning in grief;
little orange bottle in her hand.
I push pass those condemned of self-violence;
the lost, yanking at my feet.
I ran
my life essence slowly fading
I scream into the hell up above,
“Gabriel, I need more time!”
My skin aging rapidly,
my legs giving out.
The souls jumping off a cliff
into a whirlpool of endless misery.
I am grasped by an agonizing tree
that pulls me to the ground by its roots
I can feel my fragile body succumbing to defeat.
I lift my head
and through the darkness
I see a florescent white light
it lands before me—St. Micheal’s sword
Shining bright in all its glory
the roots scurry away like rodents from a kitchen light
I use its golden handle
to lift me from the ground
A swipe from the sword against the demons
trying to stop me.
I see her off in the distance
still as if time had stopped
she’s reacting her self-violence.
In one giant leap
I reached her and grabbed at her arm
Her empty eyes met mine
As I told her she was coming with me
On borrowed wings of Uriel
I flew out of the Seventh Circle
and with my sword in hand
I broke through the surface of hell
I saved her…
I saved her…




He knew she was gone; like bricks her head weighed heavily on his arm.

He moved strands of her brown hair away from her face;

With her eyes open, she stared aimlessly at the setting sky.

Her petite body laid partly upon the pavement with her feet pointed in different directions.

He looked at her skin– the change of color.

The once Georgian peach seem to reflect the color of a thunder storming sky.

Oh, how clear it is to witness the departure of a soul.

A tsunami of feelings–debris of different emotions.

He wondered. How many would miss her?

Would he be able to count the number on her hand?

He stood there, holding her, crouched with her in his arms.

He expected to be frozen in time as he marveled at her fading beauty,

but he only felt that time was rather against him as he heard footsteps

echoing in the distance.

He placed her gently on the cement floor, the color seemingly to match her skin.

Rising to his feet, he wiped the blood stained blade against his dark woolen pants.

He always felt grief upon leaving,

but he knew;

soon he would find a replacement.