3 views
A Place Between Heaven And Hell.
In twilight's hush, where shadows play,
A realm exists, beyond mortal sway,
'Twinned heaven's gates of pearl and hell's dark door,
A place of limbo, forever in store.
The skies above, a deep, foreboding grey,
Reflect the souls that wander, lost, astray,
No angels' songs, no demons' wails resound,
Only the whispers of the forgotten, unbound.
The land itself, a barren, endless plain,
Stretching far, without a hill or grain,
No trees to shade, no rivers to quench thirst,
Only the dry, cracked earth, and the bitter first.
The air is heavy, thick with sighs and pain,
The weight of longing, the ache of love in vain,
The scent of smoke and ash, a constant reminder,
Of passions spent, and dreams that withered, like a winter's finder.
Here, the restless dead, in torment roam,
Seeking peace, but finding only gloom,
Their hearts, a heavy burden, weighed down with care,
Their minds, a jumble of regret, and sorrow beyond compare.
The city of the damned, a sprawling, twisted maze,
A labyrinth of darkness, with no escape, no gaze,
The buildings seem to shift, like living, breathing things,
Their walls, a cold, grey stone, that weeps with sorrow's stings.
In this forsaken place, the lost souls congregate,
United in their misery, their fate, a constant debate,
They gather 'neath the clock tower, high and grey,
Where time stands still, and hope has faded away.
The clock's face, a cold, dead eye, that stares into the soul,
A reminder of the hours, the minutes, the seconds, that make us whole,
Its chimes, a mournful toll, that echoes through the land,
A funeral dirge, for dreams, that died, without a hand.
In this place, between heaven and hell,
The damned, the lost, the forgotten, dwell,
Their stories whispered, on the wind's cold sigh,
Echoes of a life, that's lost, and a death, that's nigh.
Yet, even here, a glimmer of hope does shine,
A light, that flickers, like a candle's dying line,
A chance for redemption, for forgiveness, and peace,
A way to break the chains, that bind, and release.
For in this place, between heaven and hell,
There's still a choice
(from the works of Jason Carr)
RE: This is my 467th poem I've written.
© Jaycarr1971
A realm exists, beyond mortal sway,
'Twinned heaven's gates of pearl and hell's dark door,
A place of limbo, forever in store.
The skies above, a deep, foreboding grey,
Reflect the souls that wander, lost, astray,
No angels' songs, no demons' wails resound,
Only the whispers of the forgotten, unbound.
The land itself, a barren, endless plain,
Stretching far, without a hill or grain,
No trees to shade, no rivers to quench thirst,
Only the dry, cracked earth, and the bitter first.
The air is heavy, thick with sighs and pain,
The weight of longing, the ache of love in vain,
The scent of smoke and ash, a constant reminder,
Of passions spent, and dreams that withered, like a winter's finder.
Here, the restless dead, in torment roam,
Seeking peace, but finding only gloom,
Their hearts, a heavy burden, weighed down with care,
Their minds, a jumble of regret, and sorrow beyond compare.
The city of the damned, a sprawling, twisted maze,
A labyrinth of darkness, with no escape, no gaze,
The buildings seem to shift, like living, breathing things,
Their walls, a cold, grey stone, that weeps with sorrow's stings.
In this forsaken place, the lost souls congregate,
United in their misery, their fate, a constant debate,
They gather 'neath the clock tower, high and grey,
Where time stands still, and hope has faded away.
The clock's face, a cold, dead eye, that stares into the soul,
A reminder of the hours, the minutes, the seconds, that make us whole,
Its chimes, a mournful toll, that echoes through the land,
A funeral dirge, for dreams, that died, without a hand.
In this place, between heaven and hell,
The damned, the lost, the forgotten, dwell,
Their stories whispered, on the wind's cold sigh,
Echoes of a life, that's lost, and a death, that's nigh.
Yet, even here, a glimmer of hope does shine,
A light, that flickers, like a candle's dying line,
A chance for redemption, for forgiveness, and peace,
A way to break the chains, that bind, and release.
For in this place, between heaven and hell,
There's still a choice
(from the works of Jason Carr)
RE: This is my 467th poem I've written.
© Jaycarr1971
