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Phil Roberts 1957 (Melbourne)

We climb the steepest walls to tell
A story that we know too well;
Of times when all our hopes they fell
As slow we’d climb a moss-slicked well,
And talk of our days in Hell.

In these days of solitude
No one dares to break the mood,
By talking words that may sound rude
Of the times when life was oh so crude,
Times we fear to e’er allude.

We recall, like it were yesterday
The times when life was ever grey,
Dark like night, filled every day
All hopes and dreams, were swept away,
And nothing good would seem to stay.

And so we talk of many things
Of all the horror, life doth bring,
Of evil days, which seem to cling
Crippled by a monster’s sting,
Of loathsome dirges, we all would sing.

It seemed the evil would never end
Against his might, we could not defend,
It seemed the good had not a friend
Our hopeless fate could not amend,
To fight a fiend, Satan did send,

Then one day we learnt to run
To escape the monster for the sun,
Without threats ... of knives, or guns
We fled the terror of the Hun,
And all of the evil that he had done.

© Copyright 2021 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia

About this poem

Life under the thumb of a human monster. See 20 Years in Hell, Witchery, & The Story of Hell House.

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Written on July 08, 2013

Submitted by PHIL_ROBERTS on July 17, 2021

1:05 min read

Phil Roberts

I am 64 and loves cats, rock music, and horror fiction and poetry more…

All Phil Roberts poems | Phil Roberts Books

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    "OUR DAYS IN HELL" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 17 Sep. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/105159/our-days-in-hell>.

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