Septic Flesh

Would you like to become Dante's Companion in his grim cathode,
following our tunnels to our subterranean covert foundation?
This concrete shelter is our nest now,
a beautiful vase without a flower.
We left above us a dark minefield,
seeded with the shattered limbs of yesterday.
The electric fire is the breath of our god
and its murmuring sound, damnation.
We are hostages with no escaping pod to return to our home.