The Ninth Circle

The Ninth Circle

The cold is the biggest surprise

when you anticipate fire.

Suspended in darkness,

with only shadows for company

not even memory consoles,

loaded, as it is, with dread.

A second eternity beckons,

an endless mirror to the soul,

accompanied by the wailing departed,

those who in life took a knife

to the fragile heart.

Too late to make amends.

Beyond apology and regret

there is only frozen waste,

ice that burns but never melts,

like a heart turned cold,

a visage resolute against redemption.

The weak deceiver, too timid to refuse,

the calculating philanderer,

boasting of each new conquest,

and all who vacillate in between,

are doomed to dwell in this circle.

Lost, lonely, unforgiven, loveless;

those who have betrayed.

Steve Bishop