I stood before the blackest gate and saw
it’s spikey burnt iron stakes standing tall.
Desolate barren land led up to it,
framing way to damnation’s darkest pit.
Passing through Hell’s Satanic gloomy gate
was my final walk to fathomless fate.
My eighty-year-life was lived, spent and done,
and now the battle for my soul was won.
Wrong decisions and pride had led me here;
through this monstrous gate of eternal fear.
Too proud, I had scoffed, jeered and not believed.
If only my life was not filled with greed.
The gate stood insurmountable and strong;
iron presence dividing right from wrong.
The gate before me groaned, opening wide.
Devourer of masses--me now inside.
Sick, sorrowful souls cried in anguished pain--
never to return through Black Gate again.
Acid sulphur smell arose from gate’s grill,
while whining deadlock hinges closed on kill.
Today, most mournful moment of my life…
is passing through those evil gates of strife.
During my life, I chose not to believe,
now all I can do is rue, weep and grieve.
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| Writing Prompt |
any type of gate you can write about. A free verse or rhyme but it must be the saddest gate poem you can think of, give it a go:) |
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