Houska Castle, Czech Republic — Gateway To Hell
by Dawg
Crowned by forests black as spilled ink, the ancient Houska stands,
stone fortress raised to seal a wound, not made by mortal hands.
Walls mortared not for shelter, but to cage what lies beneath–
a rift in earth’s intentions, where nothing living dares to breathe.
Above the haunted pit, masons laid the first bleak stone,
in defiance of a mouth that opens into the bone.
Centuries drip like candle wax along the parapets and stairs,
a castle built for monsters, not for kings nor heirs.
Beneath the flagstones, legend claims the darkness swells,
a gateway cut by nature’s spite–a passage straight to hell.
Demons writhe in shadow, half-glimpsed in the mind’s back room,
screaming through the keyholes, whispering promises of doom.
Prisoners once lowered by rope, left to test the abyss,
returned in madness, eyes forever marked by what they missed.
No prayers survive in crypts this cold, no blessings penetrate the deep,
only the echo of claw and fang, when even the stone can’t sleep.
Torches flicker on wet limestone, light surrendering to dread,
air thick as unspoken confessions, chilled by the ancient dead.
Iron gates groan, grating against the weight of centuries’ fear,
windows frame the blackest hour, and nothing bright draws near.
Rain gnaws the gargoyles, moss devours the stairs,
Houska sits–immovable, gaunt, forever unprepared.
The wind sighs at the windows, never daring to slip inside,
as if even the elements fear what these ancient stones confide.
Not a sanctuary, not a throne–merely a lid pressed tight
over something earth itself rejected in primal, silent fright.
Within these ramparts, hell’s heartbeat hammers slow and deep,
for Houska was not meant for life, but to guard the restless dead.
Time crawls through the cellars, history eats itself raw–
Houska: the mouth of nightmares, the world’s unending flaw.