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Poem

A walk a saunter 
but
No Paradise Garden this

The wells power a procession 
The ghosts of the past
Things come and gone

It is looking back at you
You who have the gift of life 
You who have the gift of love

By Gods grace grant me the best of all gifts
The gift of a merciful death

Looking at the void
The open eyed falling
With mouth agape
Our eyes chasing theirs as you drop

A man might have immortal life and wander 
For all the generations of man till reaching the edge of doomsday
Let us find harbour to see again with longing the lives of those

Who grow old and die
Of those who die

He who knows our thoughts will he not hear our words

Looking into Hells tunnel 
There the horror of ones birth
The beauty seen of ones death

Grasping almost blind sensing

My reaching fingers 
A soft acrid smell of electric ozone
Wild pulsating mysterious images indistinct a soft focus 

Powerful bass sounds so low 
The vibrating thick air giving portent of such power
Crackling a screaming high frequency at limits of hearing

Iridescent light neither hot nor cold 
Weightlessness felt a resonance with ones mass 
A feeling of being tempered between the Devils finger and thumb

PS Category Hell 

Sorry no tick box for Hell

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