There is a passage which leads through a gate,
Which in turn will grant access, to those who would wait,
To a long dusty hallway, of cobwebs and flies
Where you feel, from the shadows, the presence of eyes
That examine your weakspots and drool at your back,
For the thrill of surprise and the heat of attack.
And most stop and shudder, and turn back in fear
And it's those fallen souls whose bones are strewn here.
But for men with the courage to swallow the fright
Lies a room at the end that is filled with delight.
It's the glee that you feel on All Hallow's Eve
Staring over the tombstones, all hidden in weeds.
It's the laugh that escapes from a lunatic's throat
Or the captain who abandons his fast sinking boat
Leaving women and children to drown or to float.

It's the joy that you feel when the wind brings a chill,
And there's death and decay in the breeze; what a thrill!

And this room is all round, then again it is square
And the walls are of brick, and the ground is of air.
And a creature will greet you with gleaming white teeth
That are rotten and yellow and black underneath.
And he'll smile a while, give you plenty of time
To count all the fangs as they gnash and they grind.
And just when you think that he'll kill you at last
He pulls back his lips once more, lets out some gas
That escapes from his throat - barely reaches your ears
Yet it carries the words that he wants you to hear...

"Welcome, you Human. You Flesh and Disease.
You're here for one reason - for sights that appease.
You knew why you entered, you knew why you came.
But remember this always: You're never the same
Once you've seen all the pain and the torture within,
You're changed when it's over. Not how you came in.
But follow me now, for it's time to begin."

As you follow his footprints, you know that it's true
All the stories that Dante had passed down to you
Through his books and his writings, his humor Divine
That has stayed so intact through these sentries of time.
You see all the circles, the levels of hell.
You hear all the screaming. You peer down the wells.
You feel the afflicted, share all their plague.
You stare through the ghosts, all hollow and vague.
And there in the corner, cowering in gloom,
Is the form of the sinner who prophesied doom.
Behind him a killer, a taker of life,
And with him a woman -- his victim and wife.
She is holding a baby, that is missing its head
Which is buried above, as the child is dead.

And your host then escorts you past owners of slaves,
Past burners of homes and robbers of graves.
Past rapists and pirates and heathens and men
Who bowed down to their god, but then sinned again.
He leads you past suffering like never before
On the right side, the haters. On the left, all the whores.
Right in front in the center, a column of heat
Where, all barefoot and burnt, lie piles of feet.
And you've just left behind you a terrible glance
Of the ears that are mad from eternity's chants.
They pour forth from the devil, from his mouth and his hands.

And before you, a pasture, all green and alive
To remind all the captured of the pleasures outside.
Such a viscious reminder can not be denied,
And you yearn once again for your skin and your hide.

And you host surely sees this, but it matters naught,
For a lesson you seeked, and you must be taught.
And the tour is not finished, it's hardly begun.
There are so many sinners, so much to get done.
And time moves so slowly, it seems like forever
You're down in the hole. You'll never leave. Never.
And the lesson continues, all around you, the pain.
Of those who are learning their own lessons again.
For repenting is taken out on the transgressors
Through bodily pain and wounds that will fester.
By whippings and beatings and burnings and hate,
They all beg for forgiveness, but they plead much too late.

And finally nighttime has turned into day
And the dark's been burned off by the morning sun's rays.
And you find yourself suddenly back where you started,
But feeling so weary and so empty hearted.
And the ghoul that has lead you round hell by your hand
Has a look in his his eye that shows he understands.
But there's no room for sympathy, it's not in the gleam
That emmanates from him, this freakish machine.

"You've seen all the things of which others have dreamt
Your walls have collapsed, like a weak canvas tent.
The winds of the future, from deep underground
Will always be with you. You'll never sleep sound.
And you'll never forget, these sights won't be erased.
Though you'll want to get rid of them, wish them replaced.
But you're destined to carry them all of you days,
From your wake to your sleep to your death and your grave."

Now the sun's gaining strength, he's begun to fade out.
But he hands to you something, so there is no doubt.
No room for belief that a dream's all it was.
No excuses to blame it on sleep's hazy fuzz.

And you glance from the piece that you hold in your hand
To his face, and you say to him, "I Understand."

© 2000, Michael Yanovich. www.mentalsnot.com