The Resurrection of Edward Gein

The Resurrection of Edward Gein

It came in a dream. A hypnotic voice
that tantalized and left him no choice
but to serve and obey.

The vision -- a crypt -- and written within
was a single name, that of Edward Gein,
amongst the decay.

Neither vision nor name held meaning at all
but like an addict, he heeded the call,
seeking release.

Others had heard it but none so clear.
Ordained by the voice, he was the seer
avoiding caprice.

Moonlight shredded the ashen smoke-like clouds
that veiled the night sky like funeral shrouds
blanketing remains.

A dark wind moaned eerily, its cloying grasp
clawing at windows, echoing the rasp
of ghostly chains.

The cadaverous light revealed, at last,
the decaying archives, remnants of the past,
in sharp relief.

Jumbled tombstones smiled like death's teeth,
protecting the dead who were lying beneath
in silent grief.

The darkness deepened, hushed sounds were blurred
as footsteps drew nearer, more felt than heard,
in vile trespass.

Their journey completed, the robed figures halt.
In silence, they supplicate before the vault
in a parodical Mass.

With flame and blood in humble offering,
they call upon their fallen angel King;
words from arcane scrolls.

In ignorance, their wretched minds are blind
as they recite the ancient words that bind
their immortal souls.

The smell of dampness saturates the air
as long rusted metal cries out in despair;
the doors swing free.

A satisfied smile creases the leader's face
as he rises and enters this profane place;
belief is his key.

The sickening smell of putrefied flesh,
overwhelming in this unholy crèche,
is death's incense.

Like his rapturous vision, he sees within,
the evil's most loved – Edward Gein;
a self pretense.

He kneels before the cold, stone crypt
deaf and dumb to the lid that's tipped
and the scratching sound.

A fleshless hand darts, grabbing his throat;
rising, the grinning skull begins to gloat
as he's pulled to the ground.

Heat blisters the walls as the others run
but what has begun can't be undone
nor what lies ahead.

The deceitful vision was the devil's curse;
the truth - a resurrection in reverse.
No peace for the dead.

The rising sun's first rays softly reveal
a placid scene; there's nothing to conceal.
The past stays unknown ...

except, hanging from the doorway's jamb
they will find the outlines of a pentagram
in bloody flesh and bone.


Notes
An entry in "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest"  [ASR] for March 2011
Prompt: Must use the words footsteps, chains, smoke, dampness, darkness, window, cries, wretched.

Edward Theodore "Ed" Gein (August 27, 1906 – July 26, 1984) was an American murderer and body snatcher. His crimes garnered widespread notoriety after authorities discovered Gein had exhumed corpses from local graveyards and fashioned trophies and keepsakes from their bones and skin. He was the basis for Buffalo Bill in Silence of the Lambs.

Form: My own aab ccb

Thank you for taking time to read my words. I would appreciate it if you took a moment and left a comment. Your reaction, impressions, criticisms, - yes, even praise - are all equally welcome.

Ken