Hell
Like the clack of the track
The rhythm goes on and on
The rail runs cold into the black
Away into a sunset for all
The clouds are white, turning black
All fear thrives along with our sins
Pushing away it's just a fact
They come back haunting over and over again
Four best words, just an excuse
The reasons dwell pure under my realm
For just a pleasure people I reduce
Clouds my eyes in a film
The whistle blows cold to the air
The train shudders, decreases, and stops
I disembark in a new land and stare
At the land of everything that's not
poem by Midnights Voice
Added by Poetry Lover
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