
Holy, holy, holy,
Saints without sin—
Heaven almighty—
No one else gets in.
To pass the gate
Sell your own soul.
It’s never too late,
Bore out that hole.
Keep real quiet—
Head on a platter—
No voice, no riot.
All else won’t matter.

Poet | Mystic | Existential Voice | Human with a haunted halo
Tristan Robert Lange is a poet whose work blends existential depth, gothic imagery, and spiritual subtext. This site is home to their published poems, reflections, and creative journey.

Holy, holy, holy,
Saints without sin—
Heaven almighty—
No one else gets in.
To pass the gate
Sell your own soul.
It’s never too late,
Bore out that hole.
Keep real quiet—
Head on a platter—
No voice, no riot.
All else won’t matter.

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