Dreaming of the Abyss 9-1-12

Another Edgar Allen Poe style poem

I could see nothing but darkness.

Total blackness that hung like a shroud,

Making me fear I've gone blind.

A chuckle starts, lo and filled with malice.

I shuddered, as much from terror as cold.

Someone else was done here; I was not alone.

The sound echoed from every direction until I felt I'd go crazy.

My thoughts strained to comprehend

That which my subconscious already knew.

I was underground, buried alive.

At last, the sound died away.

And yet, as silence descended,

I almost wished for it to return.

The death-like silence wrapped around me,

And I realized  I was abandoned.

Left to die in this unbearably cold, Artic prison.

No, not a prison, I reflected.

Prisons had guards, wardens and more than one inmate.

Chills spread across my body.

That laugh. A warden? My prison?

I started to feel hysteria rise within me.

I held it at bay as I tried to order my thoughts.

Prisons held multiple inmates, not just one.

An idea started to form in my mind.

I opened my mouth to scream,

Yet nothing more than a squeak came out.

I nervously swallowed and tried again, succeeding.

I shouted until I could no more.

As my echoes faded, I strained to listen.

Nothing. Silence. I had been left here.

Abandoned by the warden, or owner, of this prison.

I let the despair flood my soul.

There was no hope for me now.

I would die here, utterly alone,

Forsaken and forgotten.

Tears poured down my cheeks as I realized my condition.

I am afraid of the murderer called death.

And yet, in this cold, dark place,

I would meet him face to face.

There is no escaping it.

Or maybe, just maybe, I had already faced it.

Maybe this was Hell.