Cry of the Demons

No-one can foretell what I can feel,

No-one can prevent what is happening,

My past is their present,

Unknown futures to hold,

But one thing I know is they’re coming.

Running wildly,

Unable to stop my feet,

Climbing endless mountains,

Sloping with danger,

Groaning in an elderly manner,

Like crashing waves disfiguring an eternal world.

My attempts,

Futile,

Inadequate.

In such a world of mystery,

The one thing I know is they’re coming.

My heart,

Slowing,

Running out of energy.

I can hear them,

Feet scratching the ground,

Hands pulsating in eagerness.

Hiding in the shadows,

Yet always within my sight.

Their robes swishing in a silent breeze.

Scowling faces,

Eyes,

Fierce,

Bloodshot.

Just like me.

Flooded in a sea of red.

Lying still,

Finally undisturbed.

Sinking in sorrow,

Agony of leaving those dear,

Yet happy,

Thankful to them,

Life,

So brittle,

Ends so soon.

Exit from Hell,

Entrance to Heaven.

Yet one thing I knew,

Which I’ll never forget,

Is they’re coming.

Always coming.

The End

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