Story Poems : Instructions : Deep Underground Poetry Community

Instructions

The key to locking Satan’s door
is one pecan and cheap perfume.
But if you do, beware the cost,
for thirty years you’ll have no heart.

Find a quiet sandy road
at 3am (demonic code).
Count back from six
three times with haste,

Begin to walk
Here starts the clock.

At 3:04 a dog will bark
walk on.
At 3:13 a door will slam
walk on.
At 3:19 three crows will squawk
now stop and please extend one arm.

All three, with grace, will gravitate
to welcome your dark company.
Now concentrate for only one is
guardian to Hell’s gate.

Each will stare and two will squawk
the third will fly away.
Then only one will bow its head
the other will scar your flesh.

Quickly take your one pecan
and feed it to the ungracious one.
If you succeed, both will leave
yet now a river runs ‘round your feet.

Gently raise the your crow-scarred arm
and with the other, grab the wound
and yell with grandeur “Take me under!”

Close your eyes, O mortal soul
I’d hate to see you fail so close.

Wait until eight demons scream
then slowly peek through the unseen.
A giant door now looms ahead.

If it is red, then you’re already dead
and if it’s blue then God won’t let you.

For most of us it will be green and
once you’ve checked, a spider
will crawl down your neck.

Leave it be, it is your friend
for now appears your penultimate test:
a clone of your worst hell-bound self.

Spray yourself with the perfume
and boldly step to meet your foe.

He will seem nice and ask you things.
Things about life without fire’s light.
Answer with truth to any you choose,
but “Who is the greater?” you must answer “You.”

With this he'll knows something is not right
and he will growl with ferocious might.
Start to run to Satan’s door, knock three times
and then three more.

No one will answer but a hole will appear
and you must pour the perfume here.
Find the spider and use him as a seal.
Hell's arachnids are a delicious meal.

A voice behind the door will curse
and pull the spider through.
With a sickening crunch,
the sacrifice is made
and now you can breathe because
your done and find yourself alone.

Now just for fun look at your watch.
It’s just turned 3 o’clock.

Written by Brian Minnick (manic_inspiration)

Published 28th January 2010 10:36pm Read all poems by Brian Minnick
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.

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