Of Earth Poem by Marlin Nightingale

It was no jest when at Her behest,
The monsters had their ball.
No storm could scare such a bald-faced terror,
Into those prison halls.

Gate by gate, the locks she sprung,
Eyes a fiery moat;
Mouth a black forked tongue.
Her words, the spit
That scorched and stung.

The warden cried as the hall he spied,
And hung on the warning bell!
But the she-witch laughed with the fiery draft,
That flows from the doors of hell.

E’en the prisoners shrank from Her fetid stank,
Til’ their cellblocks were released.
Then the frothing mob broke their silent sob,
At the beckoning of the beast.