Editor's ChoiceMusingsPoetry

Helluva

Fire coast,
Souls to roast.
In danger bold
as all is lost.

Blood drops
from Sogt’s vein
draining
into the scarlet urn.

Believing, a fiction.
Receiving, a diction.
Deceiving his addiction,
relieving souls through destruction.

But the devil is innocent,
he is only angry and indecent.
“Give me another chance,” he cried
“Helluva is not my creation”.

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