Mary Mortem

A dark poem about a young woman who wanted to cheat death.

Mary Mortem

Mary Mortem said, “I’ll try,

To return after I die”,

“I know the way " on that I’ll bet,

I found it on the Internet!”,

 

She would not go to the light,

She would fight with all her might,

She would stay a ghost instead,

A lovely spirit with lips blood red,

 

Then she’d visit friends at night,

Call their names, give them a fright,

And gracefully float on down the hall,

Then disappear slowly through a wall,

 

A séance would be best of all,

For she’d appear at medium’s call,

To them all she would confide,

Mystic news from the other side,

 

But the fate she craved the most,

Was not to just remain a ghost,

But something tangible instead,

A Vampire --the Lord of the undead,

 

Some cultures believe a suicide,

Becomes  a vampire after they died,

She’d start a trend that’d be a rave,

Suicides rising from the grave,

 

She’d show them all she was no liar,

When she arose as a vampire,

The trick was first to cast a spell,

To protect the soul and keep her well,

 

She’d bought it from a gypsy witch,

Who’d impressed her with her salesman pitch,

When in a chat-room ‘Dead and Lost’,

Though it amazed her how much it’d cost,

 

She’d do the deed on Halloween,

And spend the season in-between,

Floating around ‘til Beltane day,

She’d reappear the first of May,

 

Now that she had set the date,

She pondered ways to seal her fate,

Guns were noisy and made a mess,

Which would stain her party dress,

 

A knife was as messy as a gun,

And slowly bleeding did not sound fun,

Some type of poison would leave her fair,

With snowy skin and raven hair,

 

She secured a fancy crypt,

With all the options well equipped,

She hoped that all her friends would see them,

When she arose in her mausoleum,

 

Mary bought a wicked gown,

To show her shape to all around,

Scarlet with a corset top,

Pulled so tight she thought she’d pop,

 

In the mirror she looked with glee,

At the lovely sight to see,

Milky skin and eyes so blue,

Blood red lips and cleavage too,

 

For her friends she threw a ball,

Rented a large Victorian hall,

The price she paid she did not dread,

She’d foil the bill by being dead,

 

Her Gothic Friends  (I do not lie),

Came to the ball to watch her die,

They came in numbers and they stayed,

For the creepy masquerade,

 

She went all out on Hallow’s Eve,

To impress them before she’d leave,

The finest food, and beer and wine,

With plenty of courses for them to dine,

 

Gothic music filled the hall,

And fueled by costumes and alcohol,

Set the stage for her demise,

At midnight following the goodbyes,

 

 

At Eleven Fifty Three,

She broke up all the revelry,

By standing up with chalice high,

And proudly proclaiming “It’s time to die!”,

 

“But first I must explain to you,

Exactly what I intend to do,

So you will not be too surprised,

When you learn I have revived,”

 

“I bought this potion at the E-Bay site,

It arrived here by Fed-Ex just last night,

The poison mixed in with this Grog,

Comes from a toxic rainforest frog,”

 

“And what I now intend to do,

Is drink this drink in front of you,

And in that coffin go and lay,

Until this life just fades to grey”,

 

“And though I die on Halloween,

You know I’ll be around unseen,

Or you may see me late at night,

So if you do, don’t die of fright!”,

 

“I’ll return to my body, by first of May,

Perhaps much sooner if there is a way,

Gather at my crypt on Beltane eve,

And see me rise, then you’ll believe!”,

 

“So now’s the time to die, I think”,

And Mary Mortem took a drink,

Then drained the chalice completely dry,

And went to her casket to wait to die,

 

Yet nothing happened right away,

Until her skin turned ashen grey,

And when it changed it came quite quick,

As Mary groaned, “I’m feeling sick”,

 

And as she threw up violently,

While all around they gaped to see,

She began to heave and gasp and shake,

And told the crowd, “This was a mistake!”,

  

But by then it was too late,

Though Mary cried, scared of her fate,

All those present thought it fun,

When she screamed, “Call 9-1-1!”,

 

They took her death throes as a jest,

And darkest humor at the best,

She convulsed and jerked, her nostrils bled,

As her eyes rolled in her head,

 

“Help me… please!” she whisper-gasped,

But her friends who heard it laughed,

Thinking it was all a joke,

They just watched her wheeze and choke,

 

There was nothing left to say,

She closed her eyes and passed away,

All the guests they clapped and cheered,

Until they noticed something weird,

 

“She’s not breathing!” Someone said,

And then they realized she was dead,

Everyone panicked, some did flee,

As one guy dialed ‘Emergency’,

 

Those that chose to stay around,

Were detained and taken down,

By the cops, but gained release,

By making statements for police,

 

They ruled her act a suicide,

but the story travelled wide,

from Boston, down to Santa Cruz,

with the help of the national news,

 

For many days in every town,

It was the topic all around,

The attention had one strange result,

When her fans began a cult,

 

They vowed to come the first of May,

To her crypt to spend the day,

Late that night they would abide,

To see her return from the other side,

 

So at dawn the day selected,

Her faithful waited in tents erected,

Close around her fancy grave,

Watched by the cops so they’d behave,

 

When darkness fell, excitement grew,

Recalling what she’d said she’d do,

Just before the midnight hour,

Through her supernatural power,

 

Eyes were focused on her tomb,

Hoping she would self-exhume,

For many hours they hung on,

Before dispersing after dawn,

 

None could say they’d seen her ghost,

Even those who believed her most,

And foolish was her great desire,

To come back as a vampire,

 

She was heard from nevermore,

And her tale was lost in lore,

She fought in vain to conquer death,

And mocked the one who lendeth breath,

 

So the story ends not well,

Mary Mortem went to hell,

When she rejected Jesus Christ,

By desiring to be a Poltergeist,

 

Where she went there is no light,

But burning fire in pitch black night,

There she mourns ‘til Judgment day,

For throwing her young life away

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed the complete tale. I like the flow of the tale leading to the very good ending. If you play with death. You will lose. No weakness in the excellent tale.
Coyote

[Eddie Davis]

Thank you, I'm glad you liked it.

[Blue]

Fascinating, humorous, yet sad at the same. I was hooked from the very first line to the end. Though there were times I missed the rhythm, the poem is excellent. It's one of a kind and the mention of something spiritual caught me by surprise. This is a bliss to read, Eddie.

[Eddie Davis]

Thanks, it was a very odd one for me to do. I'm really not a poet and it took me about a week to struggle through it. The rhythm is very 'labored' at times, but it was something I had to just finish and move away from.

[Blue]

I remember I was like that, too, having a hard time coming up with a fluid rhythm. Because of constant practice, it became natural to me. You have potentials in poetry, you know.

[Eddie Davis]

Thanks, but It stresses me out so much to rhyme words that I tend to sacrifice the flow of a poem just to make sure the words match.

[Blue]

I understand.

[Eddie Davis]

By the way, nice to see you back. I'm also glad to see you using your real name. When you disappeared a few weeks ago, I was worried something had happened to you. What happened with your account that caused you to be blocked from it?