“There are no friends in hell: the residents
With zeal display self-love’s destructive art
In narcissistic rage. The better part,
The milk of human kindness, no defense
Against a graceless world, robbed of pretense,
Decays and burns away. To have a heart
Whose every beat demands that God depart—
This is both final curse and gross offense.

Say not that metaphor’s inadequate,
A fearful mask that hides a lake less grim:
Relentless, pain-streaked language seeks to cut
A swath to bleak despair, devoid of him.

This second death’s a wretched, endless thing,
Eternal winter with no hope of spring.”

John Piper notes: “D.A. Carson is a worthy poet and knows that metaphors for hell do not point to lesser realities.”

D. A. Carson, Holy Sonnets of the Twentieth Century (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1994), 117 (reflecting on Rev 14:9–11; 21:8): Linked from http://andynaselli.com/sonnet-on-hell