A Dying Man I'm destined for the grave for my soul can not be saved from death's tight grip. I began to slip deeper and deeper into madness until they pull me away in my casket. I should have known these blue skies and peaceful nights would not last. How could live knowing my life could end so tragic that this life would never last that everything would soon collide and crash with my present and my past. In those dark pits, my soul will never last my sins will always come to pass. Can God hear my voice cry and sing pleading for mercy for only his hand can help me. I have lied and cheated throughout life never listening to those who preach about Christ. Do they laugh and mock now that I am apart of the devil's flock as my whole body begins to wither and rot.
Crossing the Void
There have been many tales told of nights such as this, tales of demons, witches, ghouls, goblins and all manner of foul creatures who seek to enter the world of man when the night sky is at its darkest, the fog at its thickest and when the moon has given itself to the sick and putrid yellow glow of the underworld. Under such a dark and dreadful night, a thin priest dressed in snow white robes rushes from the safety of the church clutching a lantern lit by a fire in his left hand and a worn out leather brown book in his right hand. He sprints to a small one horse drawn carriage which sits at the base of the church's stone steps as he pants and gasps for air the priest tells the frightened stagecoach,