But the stars were not quite ours yet
For in our ascent my guide paused,
Turned, and said:
"Stop! There is one more sin,
A sin so greivous and deadly
That those who have committed it
Are doomed to be forgotten
Here in this sordid underworld,
Punished for committing the greatest crime against God!"
And as he spoke my noble guide
Turned and began to descend into
The deepest and darkest bowel of Hell.
"But wait!" cried I. "Can you not tell me
Of this mortal crime?
Tell me, o Virgil, what am I to see?"
But I recieved no answer.
And soon we stood before that
Ice-encased angel,
Glittering cruelly in my sight.
I waited, expecting nothing,
But as we stood in silence
The frigid fiend began to quake and shudder
And slide away, revealing a dank cold-stone stairway
Leading into dark misery.
As we followed our icy path,
I heard the bitter howling of lost souls,
The cacaphony of those separated from God.
Soon a pale pinpoint of light appeared
In that unholy twilight,
And as we approached
It grew brighter and more unnatural.
Soon I was bathed in a light
So garish and frightening
That there was nothing heavenly about its glow.
And in a shout that whispered,
I was told: "Mind your ears."
And indeed!
The horrific screeching filled
A great, wickedly-lit cavern
Of most wonderful acoustics,
And my mind begged relief
From the horrific lament of the dead.
The shades stretched upon their mouths
And sang in voices blind to sound
The many hymns of Earthly churches:
No notes they hit correctly,
No sweetness could be heard in their melodies.
And as they sang the howled in torment,
Clutching their ears with great desperation
And dodging the attacks of shiny, silver,
Blood-soaked demon wires
Which rose out of falsely beautiful
Black pianos and struck out
Against the Sufferers.
These wires sliced open pale flesh
And decorated miserable faces
With a delicate crimson patchwork.
As I watched the painful symphony
A shade approached,
And seemingly he recognized me
Though I could not discern his features
Beneath the mask of blood.
"But you aren't dead!" he cried,
"And your poet's voice was always so lovely."
"So tell me, then, poor soul," said I,
"What sin has brought you here,
To sing and sob and add to
This constant cacaphony?
What have you done to offend God so?"
And the shade, sing-chanting his words
In the hideous screech of the tone-deaf, said:
"Why, I could not praise the Almighty God
With the medium of my voice!
I could not re-create those lovely melodies,
Transferring them from printed page to wind and air!
I was damned to this place of torment and song
Because my voice did not provide proof
Of my love of God!"
As I heard his words I longed to weep
Out of pity and sadness
For this blood-drenched creature.
But then my fair guide, gripping my arm,
Began to drag me away from the unEarthly light
And unHeavenly suffering, away from the miserable,
Aching masses of the tone deaf and vocally challenged.
For in our ascent my guide paused,
Turned, and said:
"Stop! There is one more sin,
A sin so greivous and deadly
That those who have committed it
Are doomed to be forgotten
Here in this sordid underworld,
Punished for committing the greatest crime against God!"
And as he spoke my noble guide
Turned and began to descend into
The deepest and darkest bowel of Hell.
"But wait!" cried I. "Can you not tell me
Of this mortal crime?
Tell me, o Virgil, what am I to see?"
But I recieved no answer.
And soon we stood before that
Ice-encased angel,
Glittering cruelly in my sight.
I waited, expecting nothing,
But as we stood in silence
The frigid fiend began to quake and shudder
And slide away, revealing a dank cold-stone stairway
Leading into dark misery.
As we followed our icy path,
I heard the bitter howling of lost souls,
The cacaphony of those separated from God.
Soon a pale pinpoint of light appeared
In that unholy twilight,
And as we approached
It grew brighter and more unnatural.
Soon I was bathed in a light
So garish and frightening
That there was nothing heavenly about its glow.
And in a shout that whispered,
I was told: "Mind your ears."
And indeed!
The horrific screeching filled
A great, wickedly-lit cavern
Of most wonderful acoustics,
And my mind begged relief
From the horrific lament of the dead.
The shades stretched upon their mouths
And sang in voices blind to sound
The many hymns of Earthly churches:
No notes they hit correctly,
No sweetness could be heard in their melodies.
And as they sang the howled in torment,
Clutching their ears with great desperation
And dodging the attacks of shiny, silver,
Blood-soaked demon wires
Which rose out of falsely beautiful
Black pianos and struck out
Against the Sufferers.
These wires sliced open pale flesh
And decorated miserable faces
With a delicate crimson patchwork.
As I watched the painful symphony
A shade approached,
And seemingly he recognized me
Though I could not discern his features
Beneath the mask of blood.
"But you aren't dead!" he cried,
"And your poet's voice was always so lovely."
"So tell me, then, poor soul," said I,
"What sin has brought you here,
To sing and sob and add to
This constant cacaphony?
What have you done to offend God so?"
And the shade, sing-chanting his words
In the hideous screech of the tone-deaf, said:
"Why, I could not praise the Almighty God
With the medium of my voice!
I could not re-create those lovely melodies,
Transferring them from printed page to wind and air!
I was damned to this place of torment and song
Because my voice did not provide proof
Of my love of God!"
As I heard his words I longed to weep
Out of pity and sadness
For this blood-drenched creature.
But then my fair guide, gripping my arm,
Began to drag me away from the unEarthly light
And unHeavenly suffering, away from the miserable,
Aching masses of the tone deaf and vocally challenged.