Along the road he walked, sorrow

His heart is vile of agony

Filled to brim with that colourless

Liquid. A symphony like hymn.

Trees of pink. Doors hinges betray

Soft green grass. Laughter, elation

Blue rushing water. It’s a race

Destined to fall at the rapture

Sun aflame at his back. Console

With arrival to gates looming

Met by soldiers unassuming

Corrupt rogues of a wicked soul

Images of hope, mind captur

Dismay a fracture on his face

Nation bare of population

And hope begins to drain away

The gates are accepting of him

Alone near withered tree distress

Surrounded by herd, Devil’s sea

Virtue is alone by morrow.