Hell

Hell

By Christopher Swinson

On the seventh moan comes the
howl of everything we have forgot.

Let us sit now upon this throne,
our lies nestling by the river Styx.
Read from the book of our father, or
drown upon what you call your son.

Maybe I’m wrong, I know not the truth,
and perhaps I am like the liar too.
You may yet be saved from this casual justice.

I however am lost in sin.

Bitter though this may make me,
every story must have its end.

So now I say this to you
and I hope you heed my word well.
Voracious though I may be,
even you may be saved from the
domain in which you dwell.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s