The Underworld

This horrifying house of the dead is called Hades
It’s gut wrenchingly quiet without a breeze
It’s for the strong to bear the sight of death
If you stay here it means you have no breath

The Erinyes torture and kill
Maybe to forever push a rock uphill
They freeze in cold and burn in hot
The tortured dead scream and rot

They chill and chop off legs and hands
Of this tireless torture are no fans
At the end all are weak and weary
The faces are blank and dreary

They stamp on hands, fingers and feet
The flowing blood is like the juice of beet
Under legs they try to light fires
They torture with bad songs of dead choirs

The spirit’s desire to leave was dire
Some of these died from water or fire
These sleepless souls they drowned or went ablaze
When they haunt the living some stay and become strays

No breath escapes the resident’s lips
They come from all lands and ships
Once the reign of the living was done
The glory of the dead had begun