Horror and Thriller Poetry posted April 6, 2011

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Fata Morgana, 17th installment


by jlsavell

Like weeping woe, the morning fog hung heavy
Clutching the earth and sky, it defied retreat
In the midst of the crumbled ruins she stood
Indulging manic cries with laughter so replete

Her visible sighs pushed aside the rising smoke,
as she cinched her morning cloak to ward off the chill
Beneath her bare feet she sensed her charmed villain’s bile
Pulsing through the smolder, black blood began to rill

Overhead, airborne ravens thrashing their blue black wings
Such a  feathered dark cloud seemed to screech of riled grief
Then the castle’s bowels began to rumble in racking quake
In the distance, waithy woods moaned in disbelief

Staunch stone lions, once silent sentries at his door,
became weathered decay, though fangs dripped rabid foam
Stately garden bushes carved into sirens of dark lore,
morphed into mad Madusas who began to roam

The massive gothic door stood erect, though charred
Moving back and forth, abrading the still soot air
Portal torchieres splayed around the kindled debris,
hissing,  writhing, like an  angry viper’s lair  

Across the manor’s lawn, sat his horse drawn coach
Its quarter lights shattered shards of molten glass
From the perch, a phantom coachman began to wail
Footman and horse bones scattered upon crimson grass

The blazing sun ripped through the veil of wild lament
Like an inflamed god, it thrust its fevered force
Setting ablaze all Fata’s touch had not destroyed
For the Sun’s pact with Thy Dark Lord left no recourse

Dauntless, she posed in the midst of the inferno
With a crazed look in her eyes, she glared into the sun
Raising her open hands skyward, she spoke smug
“This is the moment I’ve lived for, I have won

Thy Lord Dracula will sup from mortal lust no more
Betrothed maidens in death will rise and become one
His piccant plague damned to the abyss of hell
Oh, sweet conquest, mortal sylphs, rise; but love shun!”

With that, she started to laugh hysterically
Falling to her knees, she began to claw  the ground
Her gilded locks fell limp, drenched with blackened ash
The scorched earth would lurch in deep thunderous sound

From the hold of his unholy crypt words echoed
A baleful chant wafted through the scourged remains
Her heart raced, surely ears have been deceived
For the march of skeletal soldiers coursed through her veins

How she remembered their escort to his Sanguine Ball
But certainly they had perished in his coffined room
Without warning, a putrid hand clutched her neck
Flailing, screaming, Fata fell swiftly toward impending doom

Bound and gagged, she awoke cold and shivering
In a damp dark place that could not be discerned
Her bed felt like a frozen slab of scabrous marble
In the shadowy distance a faint lantern burned

Struggling to free her hands, she summoned her strength
But the unyielding chains tore her fragile silk skin
Succumbing to her plight, she closed her eyes to rest
Dreaming Thy Lord’s lot was the price of mortal sin

Dreaming, dreaming, oh how she dreamt of wretched souls
encircling an altar on which she reigned supreme
She sat high upon a throne of cold crystal quartz;
but above her jeweled crown of gold, a haze would teem

Within that leaden fog, voices of shuddersome strain
Hideous laughs that mocked of her foolhardy plot
Railing, eerie railing, “Oh fair beauty, you fool
Your venom only stunned Thy Lord, but destroyed him not!”

Emerging before her throne, a spectral appeared
Then an aria so chilling parted the mist
She knew it was the raven beauty of the deathless clan
Fata tried to rise, but deadly asp wrapped tight her wrist

The raven beauty’s song was bloodcurdling and vexed
“I warned you mad mortal, worthless worldly whore
Thy Lord Dracula rules the kingdom of the dead
For your guile ways, torment is yours forevermore! ”

Bong, bong, bong, the sonorous phantom clock chimed
Twelve long strokes proclaimed the time high noon
Clang, clang, its bell would peal, pulsating the stale air
 Relentless strikes caused her chaffed psyche to swoon

Dreaming, dreaming, she knew she was dreaming;
but she couldn’t escape from this nightmare of hell
Her throne began spinning, spinning, faster, faster
All became blurred, then blood soaked daggers did hail

From the gauzy grey, gaunt ghastly grimaces jumped
Protruding foul black lizard tongues dripping of phlegm
Boney bleached hands  grasped and twisted her hair
Flying away, her golden locks, fast graying dim

The raven beauty kept singing sharp and piercing
Then haunting vocals joined in symphonic shrilling cries
“Oh, fair maiden, where lies your fleshly pompous pride
Your breathtaking beauty, those deep emerald eyes

Your golden hair, lips of apple red, silken skin
Tell us, those full voluptuous bewitching breast
Perhaps your perfumed aura alluring all men
Such a magic spell you conjure with boastful zest

Poor, withered maiden, what might your fallen fate be
We are his betrothed brides, faithful to Thy Lord’s reign
Oh, poor, bedeviled maiden, soon will be your fate!”
Dreaming, yes she was dreaming, fear she’d not feign

Till... she felt the whisper of a chilled breath upon her lips
Eyes opened to a glowing glare of malevolent charm
searing the hardened core of her blighted soul
Then his voice,  a risible laugh, which spelled great harm

“Oh my beautiful  maiden, Fata Morgana
How your acrid blood felled my immortal right;
and my Kingdom surrendered to your cunning game
But my dear betrothed, you cannot defeat destiny’s flight

Immortality, never will you cross, nor destroy;
and for this, you will not attain beyond death’s treasure
But your beauty will fade, age will grey your soul
Until then, I’ll keep you here at my will and my pleasure

The moon has risen and I must prey fast to feed
Till then, my love, rest and dream, till you I need”
With that he transformed, took to flight with speed
In bold defiance, she demanded to be freed

too be continued

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Many of you have not read of Fata Morgana. This is a continuation of her saga which began 2 years ago. Demise follows on the heels of Inferno, in which Thy Lord Dracula succumbs to Fata's seduction, drinks her blood and fells him. His castle then starts to burn. This is where the poem begins. Thank you for reading.
This poem has been waiting in the wings for the right time to post. It should have been posted right after Inferno, but one of Fata's loyal fans and inspiration behind her, left the site for a while and I wanted to wait until his return to post. With that said..Demise is dedicated to Hitcher, who has returned, and to two other of Fata's loyal fan, Nightwriter, and Dave M.

Thank all of you for reading.
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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