Wicked Dreams Poem by Karl Stuart Kline

There can be no rest for the wicked.
Their souls will never be blessed with peace,
The course they followed is what they 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,
To mind them of deeds or inaction,
Glimpses of Hell their mem’ry retains
Of Slav’ry, Death and Putrefaction..

Whoever brother or sister frees,
Then their hearts and souls will be at ease,

Karl Stuart Kline (6/9/09)