Deep within the crumbling catacombs
the sulfurous odor of burning torches
rags drenched in thick oil
light the way
Footsteps kick up a gray pall of ancient dust
carrying with it the stench of rotted flesh
Narrow passageways open up to dank chambers
Where lost souls gather
observing rituals as old as man himself
Subterranean cites and burial sites existing
side by side shrouding their dark secrets
Vermin scurrying through sewer openings
squeal as they rush by
A pervading sense of the macabre greets all
who dare to pass through the gates of hell
Ann Christine Tabaka is a published poet and artist. Credits: The Paragon Journal, The Literary Hatchet, The Metaworker, Raven Cage Ezine, RavensPerch, Anapest Journal, Mused, Apricity Magazine, Longshot Island, Indiana Voice Journal, Halcyon Days Magazine, The Society of Classical Poets, and BSU’s Celestial Musings Anthology.
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