Terror

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: War and Military  |  House: Booksie Classic
I wrote this poem in all of 5 minutes on the night of the Westminster Attack in London. I was as sad as I was angry, and the emotions inspired a poem. In it, I describe the real fate any just God would make the people who organised it endure - where I hope they are.

PLEASE NOTE: Only because of political correctness do I feel I need to say this, but there are lines in this poem where I reference Allah, and Paradise. I am doing so as a mockery of the ideology that ISIS follow, as they think they are going to Paradise. No further inferences are correct - this is anti-terrorism, not anti-Islam. No offence need b taken to this, for I mean none. This is NOT by ANY means a criticism of the Islamic faith.

Submitted: April 08, 2017

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Submitted: April 08, 2017

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Tails between their legs they stand

Not so mighty now, not at the pearly gates

But indeed where the heat does blister them

And blind them. Where bomb-like explosions consume them

Over and over. Blood-red walls, furiously hot

Burned alive, never to die, they live

Agony, screaming, crying, like the weak cowards they are.

Where is Allah now? Terrorised they are, in eternal pain

No virgins, no victory. Martyrs they’re not.

Simmering like anger, lava flows below

Not orange, but crimson red

With a smell like death.

Time and time again they fall,

Impaled with nails, bullets or knives

Like their innocent victims

Limb by limb, disassembled in hellfire

Terrorised, fearful, and cowardly

Like us, their demise may not be seen

But the agony may forever be felt. 


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