A blog about whatever randomosity my fevered mind conceives.

The Inhuman Condition

Dante And Virgil In Hell by William-Adolphe Bo...

In a realm that’s cold, and so oft bleak

With souls corrupt, and spirits weak;

Where angels die and devils roam

And innocence, can find no home,

Where blood and massacres abound

And kindness rots within the ground;

We creatures, in our caves will dwell

To contemplate how we formed hell.

Tightly wound, and so confined

These gauzy tendrils, intertwined

For evil; we were each designed–

Corrupt with greed, and steeped in sin

There’s malevolence boiling deep within.

We’ve long been broken; tis nothing new;

Wickedness, in deeds we do

Right from our birth, and hitherto!

Each man finds hunger in his hate

With empty words, spoke to berate.

Amidst desires no soul can sate,

All dreams, in time, will melt away

‘till colour slowly bleeds out grey.

Cold talons close around the throat

And like the pain that they denote

They choke – they smother all seeds of light

Leaving mankind locked in endless night.

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