Steam rose upon the sticky day that summer,
as surreal strangeness to the mist set in.
We stepped to beats played by a mystic drummer,
and waited for enchantment to begin.

Reflecting back, I wonder why we stopped,
to loiter there upon that hallowed ground.
How ill prepared we were for what then dropped,
the fearful secret soon to be unbound.

Four college kids whose light was set to dim,
by foolishly embarking on a dream;
a manuscript unearthed by fortune’s whim,
tormented us into a reckless scheme.

We sought to find a fortune down below,
observing the instructions in the scroll;
no thought for how the consequences grow,
or that the devil always takes his toll.

That empty tomb where once the ghoul would lie,
dark errant knight of twisted gallantry;
in death disturbed by dreams of days gone by,
still punished here for all eternity.

I never fully grasped what happened next,
how we escaped with liberty and health,
but ever since obeyed that ancient text,
and never more went seeking others’ wealth.

We do not dare, discuss the dreadful day,
that left us reeling and, just barely sane.
We live forever to repent and pray,
and hope someday to dull the hollow pain.

Though many summers passed, I can’t forget;
I’m older now and hope that I am wise.
I sometimes read that scroll and shudder yet,
believing life itself is our great prize.