Dante’s Torture

The heat rises in waves around me,
moist and scorching and rancid.

Beads of perspiration immediately spring forth,
my body becomes sticky, slick, and inflamed.

Ropes tight at my ankles and wrists
chafe and constrict with every motion.

The angry ebony plate under my feet
quickly escalates to torturous temperatures.

After only minutes I am wishing it would
slide back into the cool darkness of the earth.

Mercilessly the irradiating sphere sends
surging swells to wash over me.

From above falls crystalline fiery drops
which soak into the ground and explode
back in an oily choking conflagration.

The descending tempest burns into me,
flesh melting away and bones charring.

As the day ends I know it is not over,
for tomorrow it shall be repeated again.

Despair takes me, why should the victim
have to suffer the punishment of his abuser.


                            I awaken in a cold sweat,
                             the nightmare haunts me.
            What if his sins have become mine?