Nor the friendly shadow one finds in the depth of
quiet forest, sheltered from the noonday sun.
The darkness of Hades has nought in common with these.
Clasp your hands before your eyes, pressing close against your
lids. Open wide your eyes and try to see. Feel the absolute
darkness pressing in upon you!
This the darkness of Hades. A darkness that presses on your
very eyes. And more! A darkness that envelopes mind and soul! An
unending and solid darkness, not of this world.
This is the darkness of Hades! This is the darkness of the
damned!
In Pluto's garden, earth's flowers do not grow. Yet grow there
plants.
Strange, distorted semblances of earthly growth, they twist and
writhe. They search for a non-existent sun, thirst for never
falling water. The roses thorns have, yet have they not the
blossoms.
Yet is there beauty.
The mystic asphodel here grows. With blossoms seen, now unseen,
hues rainbow inspired. Waxlike and translucent they grow in
abundance in this, the abode of the dead. They bloom in the deep
night of Hades, their aroma rousing hopeless hope, and forlorn
memories. The fragrance clashes with the evil ambiance of
eternal misery. Trampled 'neath the hooves of Pluto's chargers,
yet they ever rise again. Their strange beauty carpets the
pastures of Hades. Their gentle perfume permeates the fields and
streams of hell.
In Persephone's garden do gentle streams trickle.
Not so in Hades.
Here flows the Styx, the River of Hate, nine times round the
infernal region, dark waters flooded with ancient mysteries.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25