The Ivy Climbs Abysmal Pt VI
The ivy climbs abysmal,
Through the chapel where it stood,
The ivy sticks,
To all the bricks,
So high it licks,
With thorns and pricks,
Endemic through the wood.
The light is softly fading,
In a firmament of green,
The hidden knoll,
Where demons stroll,
So lost and droll,
In death’s control,
A landscape stricken spleen.
The ivy is triumphant,
And the pain of loss is keen,
The crumbling walls,
As twilight falls,
The hidden halls,
With whispered calls,
From ghostly men unseen.
The forest keeps its silence,
Knowing everything is doomed,
The ivy’s wrath,
The aftermath,
Through every path,
The forest hath—
In wretchedness entombed.
The colours are dysphoric,
A kaleidoscope of grey,
The sorry space,
In sad disgrace,
The ivy’s pace,
An endless race,
As daylight slips away.
The nightshades fall from heaven,
And a blackness cloaks the scene,
The chilling air,
Meets all who dare,
To tarry there,
With hope to share,
For Satan rules serene.
The ivy stings abysmal,
And the attitude is bent,
Abandon hope!
Thy means to cope!
With death elope!
Beyond the slope!
To nether regions sent!
The ivy is undying,
And the progress is assured,
Though walls may stand,
Erected grand,
The ivy’s brand,
Will curse the land,
With everything obscured…
adamdaniel 