PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Hell, I dream of thee,

While the dawn from the orient,

Is yet to open its eye,

Is yet to see.

Thy ornament being the golden fume,

Feeding on the sinners’ frames mortal,

Having the cruelty of Shylock in thy core,

Consume and reform, reform and consume.

You are made timeless having no log,

Whether it’s a blessing or curse,

Is an issue another,

Rejoice thee like a baby playing with the frog.

Alas! Unlike gold , purified the damned are not,

Meant they’re to sustain,

To perish like a detested dog,

Meant they are to rot.

What the gift of Prometheus was to the mankind,

The stirring force of ephemeral civilisation,

Is akin to a curse to those,

Who let Freudian ‘id’ run leaving ‘superego’ behind.