The eternal bliss of sorrow


Image by Aberrant Realities from Pixabay

T
he eternal bliss of sorrow.
They say you reap what you sow.
To mock him alone.
All those who have some so are crushed to bone.

To believe or to acknowledge, that nobody's won.
We only know the ignorants foresee,
To belittle the one.
And to have the delusion of being able to run.

They all mock till the end.
But the end is where they stop,
Once they realize they screwed up.
To their misfortune, it's too late to plead.
When the fortunate lead,
The mockers and antagonists are punished for their deeds.

Cry, scream, do whatever.
They have cursed themselves for eternity.
The wretched land of fire is where they are forced to settle.
After all this, they ask themselves, "Who was I to belittle?"




[The poem above you see is a short poem of hell, where I indirectly declare how the disbeliever / the evil are punished for their deeds on either not believing or being evil themselves. I'm not trying to prove anything here. This is just a short silly poem on eternal hellfire]

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