The Path to the Gate

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(This is poetry. Yes it rhymes.)

Two men journey to find the path
To escape the darkness wraith
To determine what will be their fates
The must journey to the gatesAll Rights Reserved

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Chapter 1
Fri, Mar 23, 2018

1 part

Chapter 1
Fri, Mar 23, 2018

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A place where true love expires, good people get fired and beings are nothing but dust. Where stalkers are heroes, society makes zeroes and madness is not in the crust. Some people are killers, and that's just the pillars of what is essentially rust. When you feel you are mad, but that isn't so bad in a world that is oh so unjust. They'll kill you by car, or from quite afar in a world where all life is fleeting. Don't try to protect, you'll just end up wrecked, for you know their hearts are not beating. They'll kill you my sweet, and not drop a beat, for my story is only just heating. Power means all, even more for the small, but power has a habit of retreating. The bodies mount up, many lives will breakup, as I'm here to just tell a story. Don't look in the hill, though it is quite a thrill, I've heard it can get quite gory. Don't play with the heart, and don't think you're too smart, or you'll die with none of the glory. All are mad from the start, but you played your part, in the world of pure purgatory. Alas look a ghost, be careful you're not toast, you must want to see what I see. Society is ruthless, protection is fruitless, for in madness is when you are free. Perfection is dead, from the wounds we all bled, a cruel fate we did not foresee. While outsiders are safer, if only by a wafer, you can still hear them utter a plea. Now my story is frightening, but oh so inviting, so come now and give it a whirl. I can promise some danger, so don't be a stranger, watch now - we will see it unfurl.

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The Twisted Tales

A place where true love expires, good people get fired and beings are nothing but dust. Where stalkers are heroes, society makes zeroes and madness is not in the crust. Some people are killers, and that's just the pillars of what is essentially rust. When you feel you are mad, but that isn't so bad in a world that is oh so unjust. They'll kill you by car, or from quite afar in a world where all life is fleeting. Don't try to protect, you'll just end up wrecked, for you know their hearts are not beating. They'll kill you my sweet, and not drop a beat, for my story is only just heating. Power means all, even more for the small, but power has a habit of retreating. The bodies mount up, many lives will breakup, as I'm here to just tell a story. Don't look in the hill, though it is quite a thrill, I've heard it can get quite gory. Don't play with the heart, and don't think you're too smart, or you'll die with none of the glory. All are mad from the start, but you played your part, in the world of pure purgatory. Alas look a ghost, be careful you're not toast, you must want to see what I see. Society is ruthless, protection is fruitless, for in madness is when you are free. Perfection is dead, from the wounds we all bled, a cruel fate we did not foresee. While outsiders are safer, if only by a wafer, you can still hear them utter a plea. Now my story is frightening, but oh so inviting, so come now and give it a whirl. I can promise some danger, so don't be a stranger, watch now - we will see it unfurl.

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