TP- Hellfire's Ire!

Poem 6 - Hellfire's Ire! (P1)

The earth spills its contents shaking and quacking....
The darkened skies torn asunder in a revengeful rupture...
His word justified against the unjust, entangled in the webs of plotting of their own making...
Driven in a horde to the gates of hellfire's ever heatening abode, a faceless frightener phonating, 'This reality, how were you not able to capture?'
Sorrowfully seething, remorseful and regretful, over this advertent apocalypse...
Ah' but your vision was too blurred and blinded by this ever enshadowing eclipse...
The burden seemingly daunting, its task too demanding so hooting and hollering, they scoffed, what torment?
Truly, I weep when I see in your bellies a fiery flame a'casting, its embers sparked by this wine you so drunkenly drink & fervently ferment...
Like wildlings in the wilderness, their clothing slowly unravelling and skin repulsively revealing...
Flailed alive now, their parched skin peeling without healing, ever so proud of their bodies and bosoms now only to be hung by their breasts, dismembered and disemboweled....
Pleading death's mercy, into ash reduced & disintegrated....
This demonically desecrated fitrah you've displayed in full decorum, Nay!
It exudes naught but the rotting stench of death and decay!
Deluded in a deep dementia enshrouding prideful ornaments, remember! Could ye! For you've lost your way....
Derailed away in derangement...
Oblivious to faith's sweetness walking in estrangement...
For this transient life, what an evil  exchangement...

How haunting! horrified and howling am I, Hear me ye! Hear this message of warning and salvation...
Wake up ye! from this undignified inebriation....

This fierce flame cast ablaze, its fuel men and stones, leaving not even bones...
Deathless without relief, it's resting gravestones...
In perfection, this restoration, man's reformation, revived only to be reviled...
Its heat ever intense, an interest based recompense! For this beauty you belittled and belied...
Fear hellfire's Ire! Thirstily thrust upon the transgressful, torturing without tire... Tormented, turn and twist ye mighty! Tis now all in vanity...
Turn away not! I'm no jester speaking in satire nor am I a liar!
Your Lord's word is indeed true! So fear this affliction 'fore falling in history's gutters, seated in the loser's lieu...
Yer state too then, indeed, desperate & dire...

Wept have I, enough for oceanic waves and tidal tsunamis to shy, enough for even this harrowingly haughty fire to extinguish biding its farewell, a final goodbye....
But not enough for you to, this criterion of truth, distinguish...