Where the Devil Hit the Ground
There's a place somewhere
East Jesus to be exact
Did you ever wonder why
They call it that?
It's a fruitless waste
Where trees spontaneously combust
There's a mark on the ground
Where the Devil bit the dust
He left a charcoal scythe
As he skidded along
Crying to the heavens
That he'd done no wrong
After years of tears and moans
He grew angry and bitter
"Injustice" he cried
"We'll see who's the quitter"
So here we are now
Ten millenia later
Heeding the spot
That spawned emos, men, and haters
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
