Approaching Hell

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