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The gates of heaven are golden, and the angels dwell with its solitude. As they look down upon the mortal world they see all creation. The angels came, and I rejoyced; but alas, they did not see me, for I am unworthy. The gates of heaven are golden, but mine are black and rusted, and locked on the outside. I can peer inside, but I cannot see what awaits me, I can only hear taunting voices that call my name and laugh. A great emptiness fills my heart. My soul cries for deliverence, and with my voice, i cry for healing; the wounds I carry have made deep scars that i cannot remove. The permanent damage is complete, and the memories only make the pain worse. A gaurdian angel rejects me. Holiness shines on the saint, as I am trapped in darkness.
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