Hell

It's much as Dante left it, Hell.
From Limbo on the border
Down to the Pit where Satan fell
It keeps its ancient order.

Aeneas, too, would know the place
Where lost companions go:
The blank rebuff of Dido's face,
The Sysiphean woe.

And yet there is a change - a new
Suburb of Sorrow where
Domesticated souls go through
Recyclings of despair.

Here hubbies put up shelves and wives
Take toddlers to the park.
They kiss, they smile, as though their lives
Had meaning in the dark.

Washing machines rotate their drums,
Detergents clean a plate,
A cheque book pays each bill that comes,
The dust collects like hate.

The endless treadmill takes its toll.
They stumble, but they cope.
Around them stretches Death, the whole
Of Hell and end of hope.

K. M. Payne

If you've any comments on his poem, K.M.Payne would be pleased to hear from you.