If hell exists, its darkest torture wears
the face of beauty lost. No lake of fire
can so deprive the heart, nor blunt its prayers,
as lovliness deceased. The grey grime glares
where once a gleaming stream of pure desire
splashed cool into a pool where dreams were true.
The possibilities of summertime,
erased from destiny, and ripped from view,
provokes an agony of seething rue,
as paradise dismembers into slime.
Religious threats of bogeymen aside,
the hell most men behold is in between
their ears, when innocence and love have died
and bliss disolves just like it's never been.