The disaster within me.
The life that is held inside.
The ruins of hell I carry around,
With the devil riding my back.
With Satan plotting my every single revenge.
With Angels dying above my head.
The choir singing,
All dressed in red.
The Grim Reaper,
Slicing me in half.
As he laughs at my greatest fall.
The fall to hell,
Instead of the fall into God's golden hands,
At the pearly white gates of Heaven.
Telling me that the Devil is just a friend,
Not an enemy.
A haunting of an old nightmare.
A childhood memory.
But he was wrong.
Convicted wrong in the court of non-believable law.
Convicted wrong of making people believe Death is beautiful.
But trust me,
Death can be beautiful.
If you fall into the right place.
Without the Devil riding your back.
Or without falling into God's golden hands.
Just falling back into life.
The life of destined Death.
And the life of tranquility for you,
To be destined the true and full life you're meant to live.
No Devils.
No Gods.
No Grim Reapers.
No pearly white gates either.
Just the clear view of whatever you're destined to be,
That is just only in front of you.
About the Creator
Tricia Lynn
I like to write about various topics. I am a poet. And would like to share what I write with the world.
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