Letter to my unknown lover II

The world is a weird place. We thrive on wealth, bought happiness, fleeting moments of lust. Too big of a difference between what we read in the books and what really goes on in real life. Few people would accept someone who would be ready to sacrifice anything and everything for a purpose or, better yet, for a person. Hell, few would actually do that.

And yet, here I stand. Damned by my upbringing! Not that I don't want to stand by those words, but it seems to me that I am the last of a dying breed, a breed which was once noble. Is dreaming of a better world such a crime? Is trying to make it better, one little step at a time, such a friggin crime? In most eyes, yes. Because it doesn't put food on the table, because it doesn't make me rich, because of the fact that it follows values that have lost their meaning in today's world.

Usually, when they're young, girls dream of being princesses, of a knight in shining armour on a white horse. Well, they did in a time not too long ago. Nowadays, after doing a little bit of growing up, all they want is looks, money, seeing their name in lights, you name it. They won't go for respect or faithfulness, not to mention love. They usually return in the arms of those who hurt them, not those who would protect them, even from themselves, if need be.
You can tell me I am wrong, but you will have to prove it.

again, instead of a farewell, I leave you with these two.

Everything I do


and

I would do anything for love

Welcome to Hell

This poem comes right after the last one I posted, sometime in November. I know. It has been a while, but I made some changes to the series :P. It finally has an epic thread. There are some continuity flaws now, but it will be made clear soon.
So, without much ado, I just want to say:

Welcome to Hell

The Angel of Death came
To the laying couple;
Through her tears untamed,
It closed in, unseen and subtle.

The dying words
Parted from his lips,
Though they fell unheard,
For Death came to reap.

His final breath drawing nigh…
His heart at its last pound
Instead of soaring towards heaven, high,
His soul was dragged deep beneath the ground.

Awakening on the hard cold rock,
The accursed ruby still strung around his neck,
He heard the thunderous voice mock:
“Wake up, or I’ll have the birds your flesh peck!”

Out of the darkness
Came an withering man,
Garbed in a haggard grey dress,
And a crooked staff in hand,

Who, pointing down a path, proceeded to say:
“You are cursed, yet you’ve not fallen to temptation…
You’re intriguing, but you've no time to rest, so be on your way.
You need to take up your station.”

Rotten corpses and festering boils
Were what he saw on the gloomy path,
Tortured souls forced to toil
Or face their master’s wrath.

As he came across a bridge, he saw a castle
And afore it, a sudden drop;
The moat, bloody with heads of dead vassals;
Rivers of fire and clouds of ash adorned the top;

An image of his impending doom.
The boards of the bridge were terribly cracked,
But, before despair would have him consumed,
His eyes fell upon a burnt wooden Plaque:

Be forewarned, for here resides
Belial, one of the four crown princes of Hell
So take care of how you stride,
It may lead you to your knell.