A Historical Poem

In howling woods and hollowed rooms 

in bolted vaults and entrenched tombs; 

Where tortured Gentiles in dust decay 

and the pyromaniac souls of Inquisitors screech in flames today. 


Where Hades’ scarlett chariot of skulls shriek 

and spectral choirs on Zephyr’s icy blow sing; 

Where bloodied spears and cannons clash 

and memories of World War run abash. 


Where the hounds of hell take flight 

vampires-lusting-for-witches racing across the night the raped and ravaged give a bellowing howl 

but they remain unheard as the unjust growl. 


Where glistening silver spiders weave 

and werewolves lurking for prey take their leave. Where banshee curses torment the spirits below and mortal footsteps dare not go.

Where Death caresses life in grim embrace its frigid hands inches from the immigrant’s face. Where e’er the starving march of asylum is flaunted children in cages cry, “who amongst us has departed?” 


Where by the red-litten windows I see 

Oft I wonder if Lucifer would depart his dungeon and come visiting this wicked world again embodied in the political machination of men 


Where a discordant melody 

Which the river Styx in Iraq & Syria accompany the death rattle of the headless are heard forever the jihadists laugh – but smile no more. 


Where by that churchyard tomb 

unrepentant devils breed & brood 

where young flesh like ours is swept 

By wolves-in-priests clothing have often knelt 

  1. I

Where the rope of the lynched innocent is felt –the final woe of Black man, woman and child demonized, beaten & burned 

by those guiltless, pale, & sinister– 

in the throats of their melanin-endowed descendants

Where the hellish stench can be smelled 

Of a Factory, a Slaughterhouse, a Crematorium 

where names were turned to numbers 

And Jewish faces turned to ash 


Where all houses are haunted by memories of those that died and a merciless poison lurks in the air 

murdering millions across nations as it glides 

imprisoning men and women in isolation without a care 


Where I am seem brooding on the countless masses’ pain 

I read of narcissists leaders self-absorbed in their quest for fame Across the world, throughout history and especially in the land I call home today Indeed, there is a more ghastly day than Halloween 

Tis’ called: “Election Day” 



I wake dreaming the shadows have fallen 

But remember tis not fantasy but history 

Now I wonder if anything is scarier than 

the thought: 

life has no meaning 

death is but certain 

and only the wicked 

find peace?

Adrian Suarez