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End Game
| Open Poetry #36 |
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End Game |
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bgj Member
since 2005-11-09
Posts 128Ga. USA |
End Game There is a place, an evil abode That fallen angels haunt, It’s entrance is a deep dark well Where blasphemous prayers are chaunt. From deep within the labyrinths depths Ring echo’s of grief and woe, The cry’s are born of sorrow and shame That rise from tormented souls. Satan’s friars gather around the rim To chant their unholy songs, And gaze into the lake of blood To which their prayers are drawn. Their master watches from his den Atop his fiery throne, Wrenching souls from their graves He calls his servants home. God sees all from his hallowed seat And gives not a troubled sign, With a sigh he slowly turns his head And patiently checks the time. Bobby G. Jarrard Copyright 2005 by Bobby G. Jarrard |
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| © Copyright 2005 Bobby G. Jarrard - All Rights Reserved | |||
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