For immortal heart my blood distaste,
Upon the reigns of rattle snake,
To slither through, the gates of hell,
Or burn the pews, and churches bell.
The mind of love, not though last,
Time dismayed of hate to cast. They be righteous, tortured friend.
Let this not be, forgiveness lend.
If not the slither sound.
For knowledge of the tree of fire,
Burns the shattered ground.
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Author:
RSM (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 9th, 2026 05:11
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 23
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Friendship
Offline)
Comments2
You wording in this poem combines with rhyme and meter to flow in power and grace and deserves a fave
Well done. Your poem delves into themes of inner conflict, the struggle between moral righteousness and personal suffering, and the quest for understanding and redemption amidst chaos.
Your interpretations are still blowing my mind. Thanks again for commenting. 🙂
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