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Poem

With the Darkness from within your own heart's a wry,
You're going to die without anyone to love you and no one to cry.
Just alone by yourself on the bed of your death,
With the stench of regret emanating from your last dying breath,

For you have chosen the path of a bitterly selfish man,
With the blood of your wife and children on your hands.
For the penance you'll pay for the way you've behaved,
Will be written in plain as the name of your grave.

In the fiery pits of hell will your soul perish in agony and horror,
For the consequences of murder is harsh punishments with fervor.
No amount of pleading will cease your unending suffering,
For the aftermath of those deaths is misery and agony unrelenting and neverending.

For the shadows of ghosts of the happenings that will be,
Or maybe those happenings are by made by you for you only.
For you can't buy your way to repent on the deaths you've erased,
The ever-so-clear punishment of infinite torment in death will serve those souls well repaid.

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