Tearing, nashing teeth as his pieced together heart
Is torn from his chest,
Painful screaming has filled his ears,
And it is his own
As he sits in the fiery darkness.
The smell of brimstone burning his nose
And he red swollen eyes stinging in the sulphur-filled stench.
Violently shoved past the heavy irons gates,
He sits in solemness and writes.
The words skipping from each piece of his shattered heart,
He catches each one before it falls into the fiery pit.
Satan laughs at his indignation
And beckons him to enter completely into his realm,
Alas, he waits precariously perched on the edge of lonely insanity,
And painfully torturous normalcy.
His soul aflame with a passion that cannot be extinguished,
His heart, even in it's fearsome shattered state,
Can only belong to her,
As he writes these words,
His mind wanders to the place
Where he fell into this pit
Where he now sits staring into Satan's eyes,
And his hearing his own mournful cries
As the words escape from his heart.
Robert J Nye (2007)
