Penetrated by thy molten knife
Pulled out slowly as they die...
Thy molten knife is thy own despair
Leaving the devil smiling as if he care...
The dead on the ground
Laying lifeless as they're bound
Bound by the gatekeeper of hell
And the sweet child ask
"please do tell"
It looks at it and does not stutter
For its hell cleaver could cut like butter...
A feather falls down
The child's face changes
The devil looks merely courageous
Sitting gracefully on its throne
As fear it upholds.
They let the child through,
And yet at last
For past the gates of he'll
The molten knife has surely past...
YOU ARE READING
A Million Cherry Blossoms
PoetrySomething can be beautiful and yet it can hurt you down to your core. The devil wears prada and he hides behind beautiful things. Outside appearances are just there to manipulate you.
