Red light on the pitch black horizon,
Glowing like the fires of hell,
Clouds billowing over like rough waves,
Emitting that rotten egg smell.
On the peak of the tallest mountain around,
Casting a permanent shadow down,
The opened gateway to the underworld shines,
Ash floats over like a deathly gown.
Gone is the usual snowy white frozen peak,
Evaporating instantly to scalding steam,
Replaced with a spray of viciously hot lava,
Straight out of a dark nightmarish dream.
The island’s sacrifices didn’t please them,
Dying in their unholy demonic names,
Valiant young maidens specifically chosen,
But pointlessly frying in the hot flames.
The mountain tribe felt every shudder,
Each rock fall leaving its huge dent,
Trees and bushes burning uncontrollably.
Even their main totem pole was bent.
Tall fountains of magma lit up the night,
Spraying new boulders all around,
Rain started to collect all the deadly ash,
Making it into new fertile ground.
Then the terrified tribe heard a roar,
It was coming from the mountaintop,
Suddenly they saw something strange,
A massive demon with a huge mop.
In a loud booming voice like cannon fire,
It said in a very apologetic tone,
Satan has got a major leak in his ensuite,
I’m the plumber he had to phone.
Then in the joint blink of the tribe’s eye,
The demon had fixed all the damage,
He stopped the damned leaky volcano,
Then he told them to waste manage.
I had to clean out a blockage in there,
The volcano was full of women all blooded,
Use the ground provided for your waste,
We don’t want satan’s toilet all flooded.
Use the ground provided for your waste,
We don’t want satan’s toilet all flooded.
About the Author:
Matt Gopsill
I’m just a normal man with a wheelchair strapped to me. My background is in computing but in my spare time, I was writing poetry. A few years ago I went to an open mic night, I was nervous because I use a computer to talk for me and I’d never spoken a poem out, it went well and applause rang out!
My writing has improved from then in quality, quantity even performing in poetry slams and open mics, writing poetry about any topic being funny or serious. I wait for inspiration to come and I never know what poetry I’m going to write next which is exciting.
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