Friday, April 11, 2008


There goeth thou man tight skinned,
That covereth the flesh that sinned,
Were you the one forged at eden?
Structured for glory, immortal zen?

Clawing from within your spirit yearns,
Lust stinking lust from rocks to ferns,
Your gray pulp moulded from fiery furnace,
Infused with knowledge to serve a purpose,

Yet the roots of your flesh cling to filth,
Your inner life damned, foul as sith,
Fornication beckons and tweeneth tight,
Like you it, and stand never to fight,

The crux of the universe faileth to behold,
A lost creation to darkness so sold,
Grave is the period, to the sentence of life,
Unravelling the enigma of the end to strife,

Encompassing the gates of yonder world,
Are the flames that draw into its grappling hold,
The soiled soul of thou man, tight skinned,
The sin bone deep, with marrows skimmed,

Destined to burn for eternity in the lake,
Lake of brimstone and lava, sins sake,
While you liveth, does not thine pulp churn,
Sin in the marrows, that now you burn.

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