Monday, March 5, 2012

Gates

The winds of plague
Infest my lungs.
I am deep in the valley of death
And reach for the ladder’s rungs,
But nevertheless I fail.
I brace myself to pass.
The inevitable force
As clear as a mass
The scythe of the reaper
It closes on me swift
Merciless and true
As my soul he does lift
And down the stairs I fall
Much to my surprise
But regardless
Hell is my residence of demise
As heaven rejects me
Bastard child of sin
Let me pass into fire
And allow torture to begin

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