Dante's Inferno

December 29, 2010
By pepper SILVER, Austin, Texas
pepper SILVER, Austin, Texas
7 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Souls burning from above and below
black and gnarled trees cannot speak
the crack of a twig and a cry rings out, dark and slow

"Voices and answers are what I seek"
but my guide silenced me, and my body chilled to its very core
for down flew the harpies, with their foul wings and beaks

They pecked at the tree until they could peck no more
blood runs down the bark, they have had their fill
around and around they begin to soar

The blood continues to spill
it never subsides
bodies above, bodies below, self-inflicted, all for the kill

My human reason, my wise guide
let me stay and contemplate;
something left me unsatisfied

as if intentionally I was witnessing my own fate
in these trees, and in these trees I started to perceive
The ones I recognized, dead before they could create

Sylvia Plath thought it was her time to leave,
and now she is being ripped apart
she thought she could decieve

the higher power, though she knew in her heart
She would end up a tree, black and gnarled as her fingers when
they realized they could no longer beget art

and they dropped, stone cold, and then
curled up like baby birds
waiting for the mother that will never return, and again and again

The woods are covered in ashes, and screams like I've never heard
echo, echo, like the one who took her life for love
"Narcissism fuels these words"

my guide continued to chastise, as if I could not conceive of
the power greater than I that willed these people to end up in this
circle, as if because of my human form I ruled earth and the above

Is there no faith left? No pity on my soul?
Bodies hanging from the trees,
And this is what I’m told?

The sound of silence is getting grim, my knees
Lock without my conscious mind agreeing
My voice catches in my throat; please

Save me from what you can,
But I would rather be a tree
Than a human in an eternal wasteland

My surroundings are, yes, black and gnarled, but I begin to see
Eternity without speech or body make me envy the damned
Though they are black and gnarled, and they never could have foreseen

Still, onward to the burning sand.

The author's comments:
My perspective of going through Dante's seventh circle of hell (mostly suicides).

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