They carried candles into Hell
and faced the burning sea,
in flames of red the wicked wept
from pits they could not flee.

Mass was said and prayers read
alas, too late for thee
and on the shores church bells rang,
Hell bound, their last decree.

Into the raging furnace marched
the cursed, single file.
Perdition's fires summoned them
to walk the final mile.

Before them countless masses lay
and languished in the heat,
a million heads the stepping stones
for another million feet.

Then the flames engulfed them all,
and Satan always knew;
forever, he would have his souls
there's nothing they could do.

T.L.Finch

This is really a good poem !

Glad you like it and I must admit it isn't in the Holiday spirit. I'll have to work on that.