The Haunted City

There is a city.
Inside it dwell a million souls.
Each of stained purity,
and embraced in spiritual shoals.

Dis is its name,
the haunted walls
smeared with ambitions of fame
while arrogance upon the ground crawls.
Lust is the current exchange
and the hairs of the tormented burn with mange.
Iniquity hangs above the gate
and its boundaries hold the worlds’ reprobates.

There is a city.
Inside the faithful wait.
Each a with covered iniquity,
paragons of the grace to mistakes.

Zion is its name,
the sacred walls
blessed with the right to forget shame
while all within may walk unfettered and tall.
Strength marks the time within,
each new soul is cleansed of sin.
For while we wait, the people cry
to escape from the forces that vilify.

Man has known these cities,
and though we may disguise,
the truth ushers fear and trembling.
For we know the reprise.

The truth of five thousand years
cannot be bought nor sold to assuage fears.
For in each brother human there is a common face.
Only the darkness of hearts can deny that grace.

Of the two cities, there is only a choice
and salvation depends on the sounds of your voice.
But the climb abroad Heaven’s ladder is hard
and easily may they falter that do not guard.

But I have known the Haunted City’s embrace,
and its many tormentors,
furies from ancient myths of disgrace.
So quickly they become fomenters.
And by the hearts of man,
are the hearts of man condemned,
in their own lack of salvation,
by their own reprimand.

My thanks to Jeremy Huard, poet and writer, for today’s guest post contribution.

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