Death Metal

Death Metal

A Poem by J. H. Penham
"

In "Death Metal", a reluctant concert-goer finds there's more to this show than he bargained for...

"

DEATH METAL

 

 

I was traveling through the Valley

When first I saw the Band.

The Stranger from the alley

Put the ticket in my hand.

 

It appeared a smoky black,

Its only mark a flame

That jumped up off the paper;

The Band That Had No Name.

 

I wondered why he’d give away

An admission pass for free

‘They must be something awful.

How terrible they must be!’

 

I thought to leave the show behind

And journey onward when

A morbid curiosity

Compelled me to join in.

 

“I could use some time to rest.

I’ve covered ground today.

I’ll eat, be merry, stay the night,

Then I’ll be on my way.”

 

As I approached the entrance

I stumbled back in awe.

The gates were forty feet across

And standing just as tall.

 

The fiery metal burned bright red

And I could feel the heat

Emanating from the bars

And pulsing to the beat.

 

The sound was faint until I stepped

Across a crimson line

Then suddenly grew deafening

Upon the other side.

 

I walked along a darkened path

Where I could only see

A doorway in the distance

And my feet in front of me.

 

The first soul I encountered

Since I’d crossed into this place

Sent a chill along my spine

With the smile on his face.

 

The crooked teeth were pointed

And stained a wicked hue.

The hand that reached out for the pass

Was a pale and ghastly blue.

 

Above the bass that shook my chest,

A startling decree:

'Come inside!  We’re waiting for you!’

The Keeper said to me.

 

I laid the ticket in his palm

And he began to laugh,

With spittle oozing from his lips,

And tore it clean in half.

 

He pointed me toward a curtain,

Spilling dark wine from his cup,

But feeling no partition

I slowly lifted up.

 

As soon as I crossed over,

My lungs filled up with dust,

And it took more than a moment

For my senses to adjust.

 

I remember hearing first

The same music as before,

But this time every measure

Wrapped itself around my core.

 

It began to shred my insides,

The metal hard as steel,

Til blood and lust and decadence

Was all that I could feel.

 

And then I saw the spectacle

With unfamiliar sight,

The vision passing through me as

A thousand points of light.

 

 Countless souls were gathered here.

All eyes were on the stage.

The masses moved in unison

To every note they played.

 

No member’s face was visible.

Their bodies masked in shroud.

The drums beat out a secret oath

No words were sung aloud.

 

A fine red film had filled the air,

And blanketed in mist

The frenzied population

As they fought and fucked and kissed.

 

I scanned the stage to find the source

And spied an odd guitar

Projecting like a tentacle,

Which flung it near and far.

 

The mist’s effect was instant,

And as the minions bowed

The band played War and Pestilence

Upon the eager crowd.

 

And though I felt its power

Gripping tighter in my chest,

A voice cut through its wicked haze

And started to protest.

 

“You never should have come here

To look upon the flame.

And when it takes a hold of you,

Then nothing will remain.”

 

Now I felt it certain,

How grave was my mistake!

I scurried to the curtain

To fashion an escape.

 

But when I breached the barrier

Attempting to return,

My last hope turned to terror

As my flesh began to burn.

 

My tortured cries were amplified

In black cacophony.

Death: the chorus of the Damned

Devoid of sympathy.

 

And when the final chord was struck

There came a fiery flash

That tore apart the blood red sky.

Our bodies turned to ash.

 

And now the show is over.

Their audience is gone.

The time will come to find

Another town to play upon.

 

Beware, my friend, the Stranger

And the pass he gives away!

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t come

Without a price to pay.

 

Beware, my friend, the danger

Of looking on the flame!

For when it gets a hold of you

Then nothing will remain.

 

Beware, my friend, the danger

Of looking on the flame

That burns away all others but

The Band That Has No Name .

© 2015 J. H. Penham


Author's Note

J. H. Penham
This is a first draft and will be part of a collection of short stories and poems in the sci-fi/horror genres.

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Added on July 9, 2015
Last Updated on July 9, 2015
Tags: poetry, poem, death, dark, horror, terror, black, fiction, science fiction

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