Challenge of the Week CCVI
You've found yourself standing at the gates of Hell, and you're given a typewriter and one page waiting in it. You have one short poem to either keep you out, or shove you in.
The Crimson Rider
I have a vision where I--
Eyes scarlet, hair abalze--
Roam the earth extracting souls
For the glory of the allmighty--
My new and forever Lord!
Do you hear me? May I serve thee?