Hell'farya Poem by Hell 'Farya

From the abyss of hell I looked up,
Behold the sight of a displeasing thunder,
Beyond my reach were they, else;
I, who seeked nothing, yet lacked nothing,
Now limited to the void of eternal cries.
In my glory, words were like wind, they say.
I've soiled lands with blood of brethren,
And forced another to eat of the sand thereof.
Lo! It rained, the joy of quenching this agony,
Ah! It sizzled, the rain melt right into skin.

From the abyss of hell I looked down,
Cymbals of yellow gold, a manly figure strucked.
His beards, knee flowing, white as snow.
His garment, a robe of gold, daunting sash,
This is heaven, I whispered to my shadow.
Then the tide came, swept me down the abyss,
And I fell face flat in front of this ancient one.
His hems, gold adorned, carefully laced,
His shoes, they weren't shoes, they were hoofs,
He levitated like one that defies gravity,
His breath, displeasingly thunderous, and raining.
Then he gazed down on me, his height towering,
I stood gut stiffened and in hell, again I died.



From the abyss of hell, I was awakened.
You shan't die yet, the maiden remarked.
On the bed of ice they laid me, likewise headrest,
I was bewildered by the gorgeousness,
And lustfully in the maiden, I was lost.
She asked me, don't you love it dear occupant?
And a poet I became, I spat and recited -
'Lord of the ladies, how rare your beauty.
My arms chained, against all profanity.
If it pleases you, indulge me in your iniquity.'
- But indeed my arms were chained to the spike,
My flesh simmered on the ice as I struggled.
And when I witnessed her took my guts out,
She asked again, don't you love seeing your insides?
She stood to leave, her tail dragged behind her.

From the abyss of hell I wrote you.
Behold the void of my inside, my emptiness.
The thached cover I called skin, a rag.
How I leapt from base to base, for consolation.
But who shall stand with a man of my kind.
When day break, my anthem again will I sing;
The march of them good, the latter's journey,
Freedom of the persecuted, the formers tear,
When the wicked and evildoers shall parade,
I will knee to thank that ancient one,
For the mercy he hath shown me here in hell.
But as one was paraded by, he warned.
'It is only the beginning, I also did thank him before
Don't ever be fooled, he revel deep in your sorrow
And to your endless end he shall see.'

...and again, I died.