The sixth entry of an epic poem |
Six: Mountain Commandment And there, I saw one Whose head was that of a fish. Giant globular eyes burned like hot coals In that hating head which stood straight up, Upon its shoulders, high and immobile. It body scaled with stone, iron and bone. The harshest of noise spun from its guttural throat Mocking those over whose path he tread. Its right eye met me and Like a starved dog after a hare Charged me in bestial fury. A cacophony of shrieking sounds Wherein a thousand cries for mercy Reach out in vain, as a sailor’s whose ship Vanished under the cold embracing shroud of ocean. Such was the laughing wail of the fish-thing. I withdrew somewhat, knowing its Loping legs like pounding pistons Would carry it to my back before I made ten paces. So, like any who can not retreat For fear of being taken from behind With tooth and horn, I stood my ground before the lusus naturae. Confused by my bravery It dug its knobby heels into the hard ground Fifteen paces before me. All the while, shifting its body So that both eyes in turn met my gaze. As if each eye were connected to a separate creature, Both longing to see and struggling for the body To shift, so it might have a turn to behold its quarry. It regarded me for an eternal moment And then spoke. What came were no words to be deciphered, Its voice echoed as grinding stones. From cracks and between boulders Came beasts fouler than the fish thing. Creatures whose complete visage, impossible to recall. Through these tiny cracks emerged Great bloated bodies with flailing arms Long and sinuous, thrashing about With heads of wolves and contorted faces. They came to me, Groping paws, hands and hooves, Lashing tails and gnashing beaks. Pressed their cold skin against me, Ushered me through dark hallways Whose very way clamped down As a great swallowing mouth, And stole hope in heaving breaths. They pressed me further Into a great room where Down in a chamber, A hundred men high and ten-thousand wide, His followers circled a massive thing. Around the huge bloated mass they danced. Danced to degradation, the falling of man. They beat their drums Trumpeted screeching notes From horns made of sin. They tramped upon refuse That spilled from the beast. A great funnel above dropped Souls into the grinding mouth Where they were devoured And ran as sludge from his anus, Under the feet of the wicked. Though ground to sludge, The faces of souls yet remained; Wordlessly mouthed screams In their hellish torment, as they floated. I gazed upon the great mass of ungodliness When its eye did catch me. I beheld the huge bloated form Its hand out, seemingly in offer. Above the palm rose a blue flame. A tarnished crown beaten down Upon a misshapen head Whose mouth fit not within its confines. The right arm held a wooden club Putrid in color, as rotten teeth While within it, veins pulsed As though it were alive. And, for a moment, I heard from the club, A subtle breath had crept forth Hesitant to move into creation But unable to resist the temptation, Being both its doom, and champion. Thus, it would wield the club, And hammer its message of wickedness Across the land. Sordid its message was, With the first strike, Tendrils as asps slashed And a new wave of souls Crashed through the great funnel. A second strike rung As a clap of thunder, And stars fell. |