Dante’s Inferno: D.I.Y. Sin & Sinner
A terza rima style poem I made in my junior year of high school with an addition to the 10th bolgia of Circle 8 in Hell, based on The Divine Comedy.
I was able to see this statue in person for the first time today, and the sight of it inspired my idea to use this poem as my first blog post on Medium.
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Circle Eight: Bolgia 10.5
From these two quarrelers we moved,
who had left me ashamed before my Master.
It was not long before we paused as I recovered from his reprove,
and he said to me: “Lift your brow and continue faster,
for a view of a pertinent punishment lies ahead.”
What ensued I could only describe as a sight of disaster.
To the left we turned, and we were led
toward the entrance of an ominous dark cave.
Shrieks and groans sounded ahead as we tread,
with smells so putrid filling my nose, as if engraved.
My Guide and I slowed upon entering,
Prolonging a moment to observe this scene so grave.
Here I fixed my eyes on tormented souls sweltering,
stacked in multiple large heaps,
Distorted and contorted to their pains, surrendering
to them their dignity and flesh. The weeps
echoing throughout this cavern so mightily,
alighted my curiosity, unto my Master did sweep
his arm forward, offering that I press on vitally.
Like the souls I had witnessed in this circle formerly,
these were subject to afflictions ever so frightfully,
of which were specific to their sin, their deformity.
My Guide imparted to me that this chamber of woe
was dedicated to a branch of the Falsifiers of Words whose enormity
had placed them in a separate punishment of which they owe,
for manipulative lies and words and slander
that they chaotically did sew.
“Here, their eyes are blurred by a haze defiant of candor,
their throats rasp with blood and bile
while their tongues swell, and their ears ring with a meander
of babble.”, my Master said in style.
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“They lay in stacks a top each other, with those of superior sins
buried deeper, crushed with more intensity, their pain increasingly vile.”
I startingly seem to hear a voice call out, muffled and short as it thins,
then I realize it produces from below one of these mounds.
“Who is it that yearns to be heard, whose limbs
lay flattened and floundered by many pounds?”
I exclaimed aloud, next to this mass of souls.
“My name is Ron DeSantis.”, the voice expounds.
“I seek from you a mind which insanity does not control,
To explain to me why you spend eternal time here.”
I say to the voice of this soul, hoping to cajole.
“O, for that is but simple. I was a former governor of Florida for mere years,
yet in my time I wielded and mistreated strategies and analogies,
to enforce to my own will and content, and ensure that no tears nor fears could defy my sneers.
I warped many lives with my venomous tongue, regardless of the fatalities,
so now it throbs with pain. I refused to visualize clarity and acknowledge my actions,
leaving a coat of mist and tears over my eyes. As seen of my mentalities,
my ears ring with pandemonium, for I am guilty of deceitful reactions
to certain interactions that allowed me to spread defamation
to strengthen my own power, influence, and satisfaction.
I suffer at the lowest of this pile, given a punishment between mind and body, a combination,
as my skin and bones burn under the pressure, and my mind grieves knowing that
my pain will only lengthen, with more souls falling to extinguish my salvation,
just as my victims felt when my lies slowly consumed them to ash, their minds in combat
with their hearts.” The voice died out, and I resumed my spot next to my Guide.
“Tell me, what thoughts plague you?”, he said, looking to chat.
I pondered for a short period as we made our way onward, searching to provide
a manner in which to evoke my sincerest rumination, and said to him:
“A fitting punishment, indeed, for those that live their lives immersed inside
depths that do not belong to them, of which should not be tampered on a whim.
Once driven upwards by riding these fast currents, they now deserve to drown
into the ground, never to hear or be heard of again, unable to swim.”
My Master and I venture on, continuing our journey around
to find ourselves climbing up and out of the valley,
where we turn our backs and cross in silence, bound
towards the direction of the central pit, where my Master verbally
declares we will find the ninth circle, Cocytus, the finale.
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