Your demons exist
As a shrill reminder
That your escape from reality
Is just a pretence
Of man and God
Neither shall be forgiven
If one has wronged, bid your time
For time sees no bias
It shall arrive on swift hooves
Slashing and screaming
His white horse bathed in blood
Then if you seek mercy
You shall have none
For the end of all would have arrived
And that day, even the floating bed on Ananta
Shall seem to not pacify him
He rests, never asleep, you restlessly grow weary
Only a matter of time
As it turns, his war cry conch
Shall deafen the strongest of hearts.