Poems from Hell

“Poems From Hell”

Pen to paper, nothing much to say,

--or to cross my mind--
So I stay up late and to my God I pray.

I hope I can make him proud,

Or will I fail for all to see?

Will this be the end,
Of the person I know as me?

Or am I dreaming again,
Of the world painting life inscrutably?
I wish I could write,

Without being so wordy.
I truly wish I could spell,
But more than all,
I wish I wasn't writing poems in Hell.