Nightfall has spilt its ink
staining the landscape with its morbid hue.
The moon stares and bleaches
the oily water with thousands of winks.
A mountains silhouette
carved the abysmal blue
of the nighttime horizon…
the purgatory of our sins.
The power of Gods eye
thrusts through the darkness
and the spotlight of his white iris
pierces the blackened hue that is our sins.
Satan resides deep in the oily depths
where he and his plague of followers drown in sin.
The lords light shall be visible here,
though not so brilliantly,
as Styx is dyed in a pitch tinge.
Far above the freezing, muddy floor of Styx,
the dampened air of purgatory clouded in mist;
illuminated
by our Fathers starry eye.
Dec 8, 2018
Dec 8, 2018 at 9:02 PM UTC
Nightfall has spilt its ink
staining the landscape with its morbid hue.
The moon stares and bleaches
the oily water with thousands of winks.
A mountains silhouette
carved the abysmal blue
of the nighttime horizon…
the purgatory of our sins.
The power of Gods eye
thrusts through the darkness
and the spotlight of his white iris
pierces the blackened hue that is our sins.
Satan resides deep in the oily depths
where he and his plague of followers drown in sin.
The lords light shall be visible here,
though not so brilliantly,
as Styx is dyed in a pitch tinge.
Far above the freezing, muddy floor of Styx,
the dampened air of purgatory clouded in mist;
illuminated
by our Fathers starry eye.
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