They are coming

They are coming,

Swiftly jolting,

Unto the dark, crisp shore.

 

Night has come,

Upon the Misty Mountains,

A bolt of Lightning,

A thief in the Dark.

 

Boots tramping, orders screaming,

The rap of the heartbeat

Pound. Upon the systematic rhythm,

Terror in the night.

 

Futile, are the bolts of the door,

And the key of the lock.

Trapped, defenseless

Are your last words of breath.

 

Swiftly coming, the thief in

the night. To run, to fly

Death knocks on the door.

 

Cursed,

Is birth itself.

Never escaping the grip,

Of the hounds of Hell.

 

To wish,

Not being born is a blessing.

The Spider over the fire,

Is a lullaby.

 

Undeserving grace is a luxury,.

As justice is a curse,

No, you are not innocent.

 

Condemned, thou art,

Tartarus is the only haven,

As Hell is the only Home.

 

Run, Run all you can,

Death’s noose is on your neck,

To escape is a comedy,

To live is a laugh.

 

By,

Liew, KL.

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