The Road

The Road a twisted serpent lay

t’wixt home of blessed hope

and the final tie

where night confines the day.

And in that shallow shadow

of twisted moment’s thought

Red was green and fell between

with some memories he’d brought.

He, chaste lover

and celebrant of clowns,

sadly sinking, slowly keeling,

simply drowns.

And when he died,

from where he fell,

a single crimson stain follows him straightly

down the way toward Hell.

This crimson stain,

no wound of his,

yet set for his defence,

a gruesome, gory, bloodsome thing

is worth all Man’s offence.

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