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Poem

A man so evil, his eyes are those of snakes.
His presence makes the occupants fill with rage,
But only to fear. Lots of fear.
His way is of the coyote, so sly with his pray. 
My heart's desire may compel me; but I too also doubt.
God listen closely as I pray, for this just might be my last day.

I want to fly like a butterfly, with grace and peace.
I want prosperity, for this is my golden age.
An angel, I imagine is my desire;
For my life truly is horrid.

His heart is as cold as the dark side of the moon; 
His fists are clenched with rage.
His voice carries though the skies,
For god himself can hear his screams.
The earth rumbles with him in tune to his shrieks.
A single tear on the face of the cosmos,
Falls into a eternal blackness.

A butterfly flies so graceful.
A smile on gods face would only prevail.
The stem of a feather from an angel's wings,
Resembles my heart.
No force on earth nor hell can compel.

I speak now with the end of days.
My demise.
A unknown force drives these emotions.
Not god, not satin,
Nor any being explain the sensation.
An old life must die,
for a new to be reborn.

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