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The three of us had been travelling

For weeks, and were getting tired,

We’d taken pictures of everything

And our visas had expired,

We got a room in a gloomy house

And we settled down to wait,

For Julie wanted to sleep a lot

While Francis stood at the gate.

 

For he was the moody, restless one,

And wanted to travel back,

I was just glad to settle down

And dump my heavy pack,

I took a seat at the window ledge

And I read a magazine,

While Julie said that the light was bad,

‘You’ll ruin your vision, Dean!’

 

It certainly was a gloomy room

And the walls were painted brown,

We’d had to look for the cheapest in

An ancient part of town,

The concierge was a Capuchin

With a tonsure and a cross,

I felt like I had to bow to him

As he passed the keys across.

 

The room had merely a single bulb

That would only work at night,

And then, it had such a feeble beam

You could hardly call it bright,

But when it lit we could see at last

On the further, darkest wall,

There hung a dusty old painting that

We hadn’t seen before.

 

It blended in with the wall behind

For the tones were shades of brown,

The face of an old Franciscan who

Was looking sadly down,

But in his eyes was a faint surprise

As of one with mystic deeps,

And Francis said that it turned his head,

‘Those eyes give me the creeps!’

 

We ate a couple of sandwiches

And we turned in for the night,

We didn’t think it was worth it but

We still turned out the light,

Then I awoke in the early hours

To the sound of cries and shrieks,

The volume gradually rising

As my skin began to creep.

 

A sudden flare lit the room in there

From the painting on the wall,

The crackling sound of flames devouring

The monk, I was appalled,

And through the flames I could see those eyes

As they bored into the room,

And then, the crackling disappeared

And the room was plunged in gloom.

 

There wasn’t a sign of damage to

The painting, or the wall,

But a whisp of sulphur and brimstone

Hung in the air, and overall,

While Francis huddled in terror with

His face as pale as sleet,

And Julie couldn’t stop sobbing then

From underneath her sheet.

 

We snatched our stuff in the morning

And I handed back the keys,

I said, ‘Just who is that picture of?’

The concierge looked pleased.

‘That’s just one of the Franciscans

Who rebelled against the Pope,

He went to the Inquisition then

And they gave him little hope.’

 

‘Four of the monks were burned out there

As a lesson to the rest,

St. Francis would have approved, they were

Schismatic, at the best,

This is the town the Inquisition

Righted many a wrong,

They burned the recusant catholics

In the square at Avignon.’

 

Francis had left before us, he

Refused to wait in there,

He wandered out with his backpack and

Stood waiting in the square,

Just as the petrol tanker rolled,

From a worn and faulty tyre,

And the last I saw, he was standing there

Engulfed in a lake of fire!

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[I.M. Livingston]

I enjoyed this very much, I seemed to have fallen in love with the way you have written each and every line in the correct sync with the last and do not seem to leave anything out or lose my train of thought in any way, I would love to chat with you sometime and would find it delightful if I could hear your word on my own works.
With certain honestly
-I.M. Livingston

[R Smith]

a truly scary tale David, with a superb ending, loved it, the out of control tanker and poor francis burning is a masterpiece or horror, excellent :)

[Marie]

St. Francis would never hae approved of this; never. But I guess history was repeating itself, or the story coming round again.

I hope this town is listed with the various travel bureaus as one NOT to stay in...

[ANTO]

David again - thats all I seem to say on your poem pages - but again you have excelled. I was just about to post a spoiler there but everyones reviews are at the bottom so I'll continue - the build up of the tension, the mild release and the BAM ! blooming magical story-telling in a poem - you are da Capo de capo tutti my friend - bar none!

[Barbz]

I really enjoyed this poem, David. It was beautifully written, as usual, in rhyme and meter, but also was of historical significance, with regard to Heresy. There is always a price to pay, from the Inquisition. Until today. Your amazing mind is covered by many Hats. Barbz

[Valentine]

Fantastic write, you had me going from beginning to end. I love how you throw in pieces of tales from olden times. Kathie

[Helen Crutchett]

Bloom'n brilliant poet! Your poems are always entertaining and the flow of words from your pen is exquisite. Really enjoyed this David........write on!

~Helena-

[MomzillaNC]

Oh Lord! This one is dreadful! What a way to go! It gave me shivers! I could almost smell the sulphur from the fire and the sweat of your company's terror. Seriously gave the creeps and left me with an itch between my shoulder blades.