The Death of My Soul
In my chair, I sat, pure as the light/
When the Holy Spirit came with its might/
An outward explosion, a thunderous purge/
To banish the evil, to cleanse and emerge/
But I was a Saint, a soul unblemished/
Calm and serene, a power replenished/
Confusion stirred, its effort in vain/
Lightning crackled, I felt no pain/
Booming thunder, a storm's command/
Yet I stood stronger, my spirit unmanned/
The third attempt, a futile endeavor/
Power profound, fearless forever/
From ashes reborn, Hell now my home/
A fire unimaginable, I stand alone/
The Holy Spitit's trial, what did it achieve/
A Luciferian Saint with strength to believe/
Copyright © Michael Fulkerson | Year Posted 2025
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