Hell's SymphonyHell's Symphony a poem.Hell's Symphony
Preamble
In a place of prowess, pleasure and pride,
where one shall succeed when one shall try, lies not a life of unremitting glee but a tale of untold misery.
It lies beneath the ash-gray smog, Over a cup of tea and a blend of nog;
it lies betwixt the stoops and crows, in the city’s secret: none meant to know.
A kindly old man, who’d forgotten his name,
sipped his brew, though bland and gray,
for ‘twas redolent of a life come to pass when he was more than sleepless, dull and crass.
The Sixth SonIt's so hard, To sleep, to wake, to carry on. You were a father to me, An anchor to reality for a boy who was lost in fantasy, A father to the youth who loved you, A freind to the young man you raised. You tought me how to live the right way, Not to do things "Half-assed." And now I write to rember you, My popa, My dad, My grandpa, My hero. Every day I try to fill your shoes, But I can't, I'm not man enough. Maybe one day I'll be able to let you go, But now I just wanna say I love you dad, From your sixth son. Rember Me.The Sixth Son
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