No Rest For The Wicked Poem by Karl Stuart Kline

There can be no rest for the wicked,
Their souls will never be blessed with peace,
The course they've followed is what they've picked
And their spirit's torment will not cease.

There can be no haven for their ilk,
With their soul's perfidious nature,
Raised as they are on the Devil's milk,
Their souls rot away as they mature.

As with rot, the stench will still remain,
Of Slav'ry, Death and Putrefaction,
Glimpses of Hell that mem'ry retains,
Condemned as they are by their actions.