Inside the old ruins
with vermin filled walls,
their boisterous voices still
ring through the halls.
How dazzling the jewelry,
the elegant gowns,
the best of the people from
best of the towns.
The thrill of the invite,
the calling by name
of every arrival
with fortune or fame.
The dark spirit no one saw
enter the space
was spreading his presence
all over the place.
The party grew louder,
and lewder, and crude.
The nobles were commoners,
servants were rude.
The atmosphere shifted
from festive to hate.
The dark spirit, watching,
decided to wait.
The sounds of the bacchanal
split the night air.
The dark spirit giggled
and fired a flare.
His cohorts arrived
and the violence began,
the fights and the sex
and the red sins of man.
The fires raged free
and the screaming was shrill,
the stones rained like hail
over castle and hill.
The dark, evil spirit’s
residing there still.
Don’t stop there. Don’t go there.
Your soul he will kill.
BlackQuill 