after the doomsday
there was an actual poet from the hell,
who always had a knout
to torture their pale faces
within huge dark fiery cell ,
he ruined and burned their compositions
and made them melting together
again and again
in a very dark position.
when the god revive them for the sixth time
one of them wailed and said to the poet:
my dear destruction divine
secretly, let the heaven to be mine
and stop giving our thirst
this cursed brine.
the poet responded and said
yes, i'm the real destruction divine
of course i will not give you a wine
but i will turn off the pine
to keep you close
to your final dark line
Jan 9, 2020
Jan 9, 2020 at 2:18 PM UTC
after the doomsday
there was an actual poet from the hell,
who always had a knout
to torture their pale faces
within huge dark fiery cell ,
he ruined and burned their compositions
and made them melting together
again and again
in a very dark position.
when the god revive them for the sixth time
one of them wailed and said to the poet:
my dear destruction divine
secretly, let the heaven to be mine
and stop giving our thirst
this cursed brine.
the poet responded and said
yes, i'm the real destruction divine
of course i will not give you a wine
but i will turn off the pine
to keep you close
to your final dark line
Request permission to use this poem