Outside the City Where the Pomegranates Grow

Outside the city where the pomegranates grow Just beyond the trees, topped with snow. A boy wanders; where will he go? The answer to that, nobody can know. The Stars shine down, bright and well. But his mind drifts to thoughts of eternal torture, in Hell The fire that burns forever is where he will dwell. Or is that already on Earth? His thoughts would not quell. Upon his death, the end of time He would be locked in stasis, an eternal mime. So he formulated his thoughts in lines of rhyme The words would remain when he took to the slime. You see, the world fought him hard, they didn't want his gifts. Through the darkness, he had to sift. And enter his subconscious' unholy rift. Floating in the void, he would drift. The crowds mobbed him as if he was a Monster. Angry faces stared back, cruel and sour. The firelight illuminated the men who sought to devourer And burn and destroy his words forever. So that no one would see the light inside. The glorious ebb and flow of a beautiful tide. That took his mind on a transcending ride. Through the journey of space and time, an atheist's divine guide. So the boy walked on, past the trees topped with snow. Past the river that continued to flow. And hurt himself until his heart ran slow. Until it was the end of the boy that nobody would ever know. No tomb or marking, just a body that rotted in the soil below. Finally there was nothing left, except dust that the wind would blow. And the unnerving silence sweeping over the field, Just outside the city, where the pomegranates grow.