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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #1340853
Speaking of the old with decript souls. Spiritless even as they fall condemend.
Death so desolate and divine.
Looking into the eyes of darkness
and you look inside your blackened soul

Your ill-begotten soul filled with pain
and consumed by hate.

You made your life a living hell
and you blamed it on those you loved.

You forced everyone you ever valued out of your
ill-begotten hate consumed life.

A hate filled life of rage you've led;
now you lie on your death bed,
wondering why you have no loved ones
to comfort you in your final days.

You don't realize you have made your death bed
and now you must sleep your final sleep.

And in your last ill-begotten days
you don't even seek redemption.
You truly are ill-begotten.
© Copyright 2007 Simply Ben (gregorcarbine at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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