Hell is a patient sort,
Willing to wait for itself to cover
What we will name to be human.
What is it to be merciful?
To have said this, is to mean
That there are deeper things, than Hell.
For I believe,
That even Hell can be burned from our life.
Its fires are meager.
Hell is still a patient sort,
Willing to wait for someone to treat it
As the soil above a carcass.
Like what we do,
To bury a corpse, beneath the dirt.
And yet, it is only humanity suppressed, to no success.
It is only a memory attempted to be tossed aside,
But, buried deeper than Hell, even among the evilest sorts,
Is the memory of a time, when life was better.