deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Sentry

He basks in the licking flames,
The barely controlled rage,
The undeniable combustion,
The potential for devastation,
This is where he makes his home,
In the chaos of the depths,
In the paths no mortal dares tread,
Though the Fool bid him otherwise,
He pays no heed and forges ahead,
He seeks the uncontrolled,
He seeks the inexpiable,
He yearns to taste the essence of the flame,
To hold the blue sizzling heat in his palm.

He has no fear of the fires of this hell,
This is what he seeks,
Damnation is where he heeds his call,
The blackest pitch spaces,
The terrible heat, the unpredictable,
The searing rage and terrible darkness,
The venom leaking, filling pools at his feet,
Inferno winds blasting his worn armor,
Insatiable drive and hunger licking his countenance,
He has no fear of anything this hell holds,
For he has eaten his share and tasted his part,
Let it bite, so that he may bite back and claim it.

He broached the charred gates,
Swung them wide and embraced the sulfurous heat,
He stood fast there admiring the vastness,
His grimacing crooked grin tells all,
He turns and takes his post,
He guards the blackened gates of her fiery hell,
Where he has found his heaven.