Hecatomb
death’s horse
kicks up sand
into an untrained eye,
an onyx vision
while white doves
witness from the parapet
sun shimmers
in the distance,
a twirling medallion
dangling from the wrist
of a hypnotist
dizzying forest, where
black robes gather
& are mistaken for oak trees
the madame of the house
has no wish to be
a victim
of sacrificial mist
she is darting
along with the dusted eye,
between horrific reality
& a need to cry
fearing to die from
nightmare, from bewitched
projectiles, javelin
tree branches
with warnings
carved into them
awake, awake
before it’s too late
& the night becomes familiar
smoldering cross branches,
shaped deliberately,
a silhouette of a hand
reaching, desperate to grasp
a last smoke stream of faith
now she is a wraith
reaped for next year’s harvest,
a good crop omen
lost to the wood
so good,
so very, very good
This poem gives me chills.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I got inspired after watching a particularly chilling film called “Eye of the Devil” (1966). Thanks so much for reading!
LikeLiked by 1 person
After reading that poem, I think watching that movie might require sleeping with the lights on!
LikeLiked by 1 person
🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
THIS is so good.
And I love that it was fueled by “Eye of the Devil” — not exactly a famous film but I totally remember the creepy atmosphere, and that cast! (Sharon Tate & David Hemmings… 🖤)
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes! I thought it was so good & couldn’t believe I hadn’t heard if it before. Thanks for reading!
LikeLiked by 1 person
This definitely has the chill factor going on it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks!
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’re welcome!
LikeLiked by 1 person
wonderfully expressed.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you 🙂
LikeLike