Post by Icor on Apr 10, 2005 5:54:10 GMT -4
This is about a guy who dies in a desert, and pulls himself out of hell over and over again until he can't fight anymore. The concept of life after death is completely fantasy, as even if we believe there is a heaven and hell (Which there must be, lest no one would have been talking about such places for the last 4000 years), we cannot grasp such a thing as 'never-ending', or 'ever after'. I don't care what your religion is - there's no way to prove, disprove, or comprehend any aspect of life after death. It's an interesting topic for poetry, thus the reason I put my mind on it so much.
Many days I look for salvation.
Should I bend now, the desert will shift and consume me.
I am lost here.
A comfort never even tickles my inner mind.
Unfortunate I should wither further down the chasm.
Dry.
Breathing dry waste makes me tremble without the cold.
There’s the blackness before me.
I don’t see it because it’s nothing.
My eyes are blind.
Sore are my muscles, yet numb are my hands.
Weight means nothing.
I collapse and die.
Then sweeps a cliff, from which I cling.
And below are outstretched hands which sting.
I weep.
There are many, and I kick them away with words of persistence.
Fire.
It makes a storm below, illuminating the fall.
Forever down it appears.
I struggle, sweat on my flesh.
I smell rot.
My eyes burn now.
There’s light above, my fingers weaken.
I slowly slip into Hell.
My deeds are shown to me in dream.
I murder.
There is blood flooding my mouth.
I choke on the fluid of the victims.
I repeat them.
Unfortunate I should wither further down the chasm.
I want free, but there are fingers around my ankles.
They chant my sin to the sky.
It closes, and now there is no light.
My hand weakens, yet I hold fast.
Pain is in me.
I pull up with my last pocket of power.
And drag myself into the impossible.
I stand up.
The desert is about me again.
I feel life for a moment again.
And begins the cycle until no longer can I fight.
I let go at last and give myself to Hades.
Where forever I burn for my crimes again the light.
My soul is not powerful enough.
I have been judged.
Should I bend now, the desert will shift and consume me.
I am lost here.
A comfort never even tickles my inner mind.
Unfortunate I should wither further down the chasm.
Dry.
Breathing dry waste makes me tremble without the cold.
There’s the blackness before me.
I don’t see it because it’s nothing.
My eyes are blind.
Sore are my muscles, yet numb are my hands.
Weight means nothing.
I collapse and die.
Then sweeps a cliff, from which I cling.
And below are outstretched hands which sting.
I weep.
There are many, and I kick them away with words of persistence.
Fire.
It makes a storm below, illuminating the fall.
Forever down it appears.
I struggle, sweat on my flesh.
I smell rot.
My eyes burn now.
There’s light above, my fingers weaken.
I slowly slip into Hell.
My deeds are shown to me in dream.
I murder.
There is blood flooding my mouth.
I choke on the fluid of the victims.
I repeat them.
Unfortunate I should wither further down the chasm.
I want free, but there are fingers around my ankles.
They chant my sin to the sky.
It closes, and now there is no light.
My hand weakens, yet I hold fast.
Pain is in me.
I pull up with my last pocket of power.
And drag myself into the impossible.
I stand up.
The desert is about me again.
I feel life for a moment again.
And begins the cycle until no longer can I fight.
I let go at last and give myself to Hades.
Where forever I burn for my crimes again the light.
My soul is not powerful enough.
I have been judged.
