The
Dark Abyss of the Unknown
By Ian Stevens
A crime is committed, lying
upon
your chest;
the mind corroded with filthy,
horrid sin.
Nothing will ever seem great, no
effort put to best;
the cold stone heart blindly
welcomes hell in...
Inside all you feel is the
cold,
dark emptiness,
with death lurking every corner,
hiding in walls of obsidian;
the corrupted soul venturing
into an unknown bliss of darkness
and the sordid deeds seem to
cause infinite oblivion.
In this dimension of petrifying
shadow bliss,
the black heart crushes and
burns in pain every beat.
The tainted blood now dust,
living in a black abyss;
the spirit alone, trapped in
silence, lying on frigid, rough sleet.
Within is nothing; the core,
the
soul has died...
along with hope and happiness,
thoughts fog, never to be clear;
and the angels themselves took
so much pity they cried.
On down the cheeks, past
darkness and oblivion rain tears.
Falling one by one on the black
marbled sepulcher of hope,
only to vanish into the deep
crushing sea of blood and death.
All life is covered in a coal,
shadow cloak;
annihilating all light, no more
life, no beating nor breath...
Soon the sin invades everything
nd no humanity is left,
with the collector of souls here
to reap and sow;
everywhere darkness, oblivion,
and crimes have crept,
within your soul, this is the
dark abyss of the unknown...