Guest Traveler: Fyndorian (Robin Scorof)*
On my own in Rome
at sixteen. I was no slouch
having meandered most of Europe by the time
I reached the Eternal City. Almost closing time;
last tour of the day into the catacombs under Rome.
That dark path trailing off into nowhere
beyond the purple, velvet rope
and the sign, meant to keep one away
the lured me forward
when no one was looking.
Flashlight bravely illuminating
skull whose sockets no longer
saw light of any kind,
whose yellowed teeth
grimly smiled at my adventure.
Two forked paths later I was turned around
surrounded by bones and
death skittered beyond flashlight glow
now flickering. Dimming to pale golden twilight.
Then dying. Utterly.
Lost in the catacombs under Roman ruins.
Time, destiny weighing me down.
Darkness pressing in with bony fingers pointing out faults,
imagined hollow eyes condemning me
for trespassing into graven territory.
Someone will find me.
It must be past closing time.
I grimace in conjecture
with my slack jawed comrades in darkness,
for I am alone and no one will miss me.
Come morning, my empty voice will be heard.
Some echo of crashing bone on stone will reverberate.
How long will this night endure?
I imagine skeletal grimaces cackling about eternity,
how the passage of time creeps to a halt here
as I slide to the floor disturbing the
dust of centuries.
*If you want to see more of Fyndorian's work please go to www.fyndorian.Writing.com