The Collection of Souls

From the fiery gates where sulfur reeks,
And cursed winds whisper, the darkness speaks.
Demons emerge, with talons stained,
Hunters of souls, by sin profaned.

They slither through cracks in the earthly shell,
Bringing forth ruin, a taste of hell.
A tire blown, a bridge that sways,
A home consumed by vengeful blaze.
Every accident, each cruel design,
A snare for the wicked by infernal line.

Yet mankind, oh fools, make their task so light,
Their greed and wrath a beacon in night.
Contracts inked in blood are signed,
Bartering eternity for desires confined.
"I’ll grant you riches, love, or fame,"
The devil whispers, cloaked in flame.
But the cost? A life ablaze with despair,
Chains await where no one cares.

Down in the abyss, the wicked are cast,
Into a chasm of horrors deep and vast.
There are no dreams, no morning dew,
Only eternal dread, forever renewed.

The first circle bites with flames untamed,
A second of frost, where frostbite maims.
Beyond lie the pits of searing pyres,
Rivers of agony, walls of spires.
Master of torment, horned and vast,
Tears flesh from bone, screams unsurpassed.
And should your voice beg for reprieve,
The howling winds ensure none believe.

Monsters, grotesque, with jaws unhinged,
Gnash at sinners, their cries unbinged.
A lash of iron, a molten rake,
Carves penance from those who take.
And yet the cruelest torture laid,
Is the voice of your sins replayed.

Imagine the nagging shrill decree,
Of your ex-mother-in-law's repartee.
Her wailing tone, sharp as a blade,
Enough to make Satan himself dismayed.
You’d dive headfirst into molten rock,
To silence her caw, to end the mock.

But some, so twisted, their souls align,
With hellish purpose, its dark design.
Struck deals to rise, in shadows to dwell,
To sow on earth the seeds of hell.
They whisper lies, incite despair,
Tempt the pure with their poisoned snare.
“Sin,” they hiss, “and join our plight,
For virtue crumbles under night.”

Yet hell’s machinery grinds without pause,
Feeding on souls to fuel its cause.
And when the harvest is fully reaped,
The damned are bound where anguish sleeps.
So beware the pact, the whispered plea,
Hell's contract seals eternity.