Infernity (Poetry)

red and orange fire

Her bobbed black hair

So perfectly trimmed

Just above her earlobes

From which dangle

Pretty silver beads

Short choppy bangs

Play across her forehead

And her grey face

Neither plain nor pretty

Her neck long and smooth

And bare, her shirt

Collar open and low-cut

Her humble breasts

Are nearly invisible

Beneath her dark blue gown

She glides across the ballroom

To a grand white piano

Almost floats atop the bench

Her pointed shoes prime the pedals

The tune she plays is haunting

Heavy on bass and dissonance

The room freezes and then

There are the stares

But not of anger, they are blank

Awed at her hollow expression

Her eyes are coal black

No whites in them at all

She reads no music

It comes from her soul

Tortured but brilliant

The audience falls

Into a helpless trance

And without any thought or clue

They begin an infernal dance

Infernity is her name

She is not a demon nor a devil

She is a nether being

Neither here nor there

Yet omnipresent and cold

Yet the air comes to a boil

Whenever she plays

The music is loud

And composed from agony

Bitterness, bloody tears

And sweaty bones

They are the woes of the damned

She reminds us

Of where we’re headed

Without a care

She drifts along

To another place

Where affluent gather

And their tickets are punched

On a one-way tour

Down the River Styx

To Hades Eternal

Written 11-25-14

Writing words, spreading love, Amelia Desertsong primarily writes creative nonfiction articles, as well as dabbling in baseball, Pokemon, Magic the Gathering, and whatever else tickles her fancy.
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