Writing A few of my poems

[Squall]

I just wanted to share a few poems I decided to write the other day. I'd appreciate any comments or constructive criticism.

[FONT=Century Gothic][B]Killed[/B]

When Dante wakes to greet the dead,
a mourning fool may I behead.
Dante waits for might a spell,
as the fool must truge down into hell.
He is then greated at the gates,
an eternity in hell awaits.
Time to pick, one through nine,
Be he sinner or divine.
Number five- the City of Dis;
Down he goes to the abyss.
And above I stay,
his corpse in hand,
laughing here until the end.

[B]Escape[/B]

To purgatory,
follow me!
Where we may live in serenity!
First a battle,
then a war.
Ours is a goal worth fighting for!
We shall overrun the gates of hell,
and be free from this malicious cell!
But at the gates we fall again!
to wreath for all in Satan?s den.
The truth is clear,
we now can see:
We can never be set free?

[B]Death Be Still[/B]

Silent city,
still asleep.
Now the advocate must reap.
Death be quick,
death be still,
a farmer dies upon the hill.
No cause no query,
no sign of sick,
death be still,
death be quick.
The sun must come,
the sun must leave,
the advocate must then decieve.
Death be silent,
without delay,
a man in hell is there to stay.
An eternity of pain and sick,
death be still,
death be quick.

[B]End of the World[/B]

The ground will shoot up fire and rubble,
twisters, havok, lightening, thunder.
Cities crumble,
all will die,
the world will be cast into night.
Mountains sink,
and oceans dry,
heaven falls,
and angels die,
god is helpless,
left to cry.
All is over,
the devil?s song:
The world has ended,
all is gone.

[B]Purpose[/B]

God made man,
Satan made sin,
no purpose can be seen within.
No plot or story,
nor reason or query,
just endless toil,
on this forsaken soil.
Until we die and go to hell,
or rot inside a corpse?s shell.
So maybe purpose can be seen,
a purpose known as suffering.
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