Poem -

The Battle

I come from the land of saints and scholars
But into the depths of hell I wonder
My fear is based purely upon stories 
Of the wicked devil in all of his glory
A falling angel not worthy of much
My best weapon to be mentally tough 
I faced many demons in times before
But those kind of demons were metaphors
I enter thee with God on my side
Hell is no place for man, woman or child

As I enter the fiery gates
The tune of oh fortuna plays
I loosen my holsters consecutively
All eight weapons equipping me
I hear the roars of the forsaken
It may be the last few breaths that I am taken
The hell bells toll, then it all goes silent
I meet the devil head on 
In unmerciful violence. 

His horns, hoofs and pointed tail
Are used vigorously to assail 
My body broken bloodied and bruised
My arsenal empty everything used
But I battle on and repel his malignance
I use my last weapon, took from longinus
I must defeat this wicked demon 
For victory and for freedom 
I strike down upon his neck
With vengeance struck accurate
My worry is over and my fear is owned
I leave through the gates, my victory hoaned.

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