Diablo's MineDeathly caverns, deep, dark and cold,
home to many a forgotten, lost soul.
Blood soaked ax strikes against screaming wall,
back bent, broken, almost a saddened crawl.
Sweat creeps down the beat and weary brow,
mind empty, thoughts lost, no longer proud.
Damned things come that creep and crawl,
slithering up cracked spine, bent neck and all.
Forever condemned to live this endless night,
soul bound to what was wrong, not right.
Choice was given at many a point and time,
wrong ones made, now living in Diablo's mine.
Poetry by David W. Glavin
Read 125 times
Written on 2016-08-30 at 00:54
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