Apocalypse Poem by Ghost Legend
Apocalypse
Soon enough all you've wrought shall come to fruition.
Soon, my child, the one exiled will appear from the innards
Of this place, mask on face revealed as a devil's sister,
And dance, dance, still with man, a rising smoke from dinner.
Tuesday, January 17, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: apocalypse,witches
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4/23/2024 6:11:07 PM # 1.0.0.1119
