Standing at the Gates of Hell

I hear a cacaphony
through the standard hum
that mesmerizes this world
leaving it swaying in a trance
of better days.

I hear it surrounding me
staring at your face
a far-distant cry from
the standards of beauty
I find at newstands displayed

The sweet sounds of Mozart
and yesteryears grace
fill my mind like a running faucet
the cap is securely on the bathtub floor

I soak in another endless flood,
of sorrow no more
the soul has a sense of revitilization
that we can not understand

I stare at Persephone
hidden underneath blankets
of screaming daisies
quarantined forever, but now I see
as I hear her sing
to me.