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Blood stained
hands
Do you see that man on the red hill? There he stands, blood stained hands showing all the evil he commands. No one will he let live, not one of them would he ever care about. The beast this man is, fright and hate are his tools, love he cannot, and knows not how too. Little children hide under their beds. Screams of torment as he takes the innocents. A mother, a father, a brother, a sister, all have come to their end with him standing over them laughing as they plead for mercy that he will never give. Then he crushes and rips their bodies apart. Why does he do this? How many have suffered under him. Man's time can never really know. He walks in all the dark places. A little girl who can't sleep one night, she looks out her second story window. There he is, his face shining unnaturally on such a dark night, no lights not even the moon’s glow. Will she be the next? Will he steal her from her home and make sport of her. No not this night, she is safe. So as it is with most, she feels a chill as he walks out of her sight. Why was this small one spared, what made him move on? Listen to what I have to say, for if one day he comes calling on you, and you don’t have the power of love, caring, kindness, hope, and truth. You will be the next one under. He will take you and rip out your spine. You wont even see him coming, you’ll be standing somewhere doing what ever it is you do, only your doomed, your life is over. The worst day in your life has come. How funny that is, your last day to live, is only the start of the rest of your death. I guess I should say a boohoo for you, not that I’m going to. How does it feel to know all your life you’ve wasted time on things that never mattered? Your best and the biggest are irrelevant to him, your possessions he does not want, or could ever use. Your body is trashed and left mangled so flies can lay maggots in your rotting meat. I don’t see any reason to be neat or discreet when I tell you these things. You’re the one who’s to blame, you who've never bothered to love someone other than yourself. You who’ve never taken the time to see if anyone needed help. Yes, I’m talking to you, you know what you’ve done wrong. You know what you’ve never bothered to do. You know. You know who you are. you know the true you. You’re thinking to yourself, so what I’m dead that’s The End of me. Fool, energy never ends, it only transforms. Your body is dead and gone, but your soul remains. Hell’s teeth open as he shoves you in. A thousand life times of unimaginable exquisite torturous agonies are the first to greet you as your soul is thrust into the mouth of hell. How do you like it? Is this what you where looking for, well it sure found you. Welcome to your afterlife, the never-never land. He moves on, your but one of billions. Remember you can be a doctor, a lawyer, a banker; a baker; even a candlestick maker and he will devour you and think nothing of it. The red hill he stands on is made of all the bodies he’s hacked up, and all the live times he's brought to ruin. He is a master. Fine work he does, crafting the best of the broken bodies stacking then just so, for he is disaster, and the only sound is his laughter. Sad it is now for you, if only you’d had something to fight him with. A weapon that could have stopped him, that could have stayed his blood stained hands. Well forget it, your dead now, your life is over, your soul is his. There is no place to run, no place to hide. It’s really to bad; funny I'm not the least bit sad. You where given these weapons long ago, only you chose not to use them. You did not love others. I know you didn’t. Caring for others was something someone else could do, not you. The only kindness you showed was to those who did something for you first. Don’t tell me that I'm not correct. I’ve seen it before; you’re not the first, and you won't be the last. So how does it feel to have your soul crammed into a blender? The whirling blades chopping you up over and over again, I can imagine the pain that never ends. Just as with your body, your soul too, feels pain. So do you now hope it will end, it never will. It can’t. Do you know why? You should have given others hope when you where alive. It would have gone better for you, but now you know the truth. God is real, and with him you are not. I’m glad we’ve had this time together. But I see the mouth is closing, and where you’re going, I don’t want any part. The End.
© R. MORROW SHELTON 2003 |
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