Gold and rimmed sorcerer victory
comes to you upon the backs of
black veiled faceless riders of
envy and hate.
Striking down the light struggling to
break into the knave's tiny, hopeless
realm of dreamless tremors.
Hope fades as the slate clouds gather for
the vengeful onslaught against the senseless,
hopeless knave cowering beneath the stone in the
barren stretches of a mindless desert of despair.
The faithful servant, lost in the midnight forest,
groping about endlessly on bended knee,
bloodied and shredded by the razored edges of
decomposed love of fallen fiefs.
The gold and rimmed sorcerer striking about with
onyx bolts of poisonous lightning, summoning the
naked forces of shackled servitude, bent on
consuming the light, stealing it away to the sorcerer's
coffers, overflowing with the blood and souls of the
weak and voiceless simmering about in the
viscous ooze of indifference.
Breath departs the knave, reaching for the final
vestige of the hinting, fading, dying Western light.
"No dawn shall reach your soul, hapless knave,"
bellows the rasped shriek of the demonic sorcerer,
echoing through the forest of darkness.
"No light shall rouse you from the endless,
wakeful dread of timeless, trembling restlessness."
Silence fills the sky with the deafening weight of
"Submit, hapless servant! Denounce thy soul, offer
unto me your flesh, for it shall be salted to the depths
of eternal suffering. Suffering for heinous crimes of
hope and love, desire to grow outside the shadow of
thine Tower of Souls."
The spineless servant shivering in the midnight silence,
eyes bent upon the gathering black clouds raining down
icy shards of envious hate upon shoulders bent.
The dense weight snapping limb from limb,
black flesh dripping green to satiate the
beasts thrashing about with jade claw and
Soft white clouds contrive to muster on the wings of the Lotus,
struck down by the spiny hand wielding the black blade
dripping with Eastern promises.
Senseless knave, frozen in the gray stretches of sandless grains,
grasping for release, nailed and bound among the
outposts of the timeless plains. Antipodes of the soul
doused in the gathering black smoke rising from the
pit of the golden rim.
The servant shall know not the blissful glow of Love,
Dream shall be waking, Night shall consume Night,
Rest shall consume the hateful Love of a thousand
dayless desert's Blackened Suns.
Gathering forces of the Eastern gold and darkness,
poised upon the ridge, slopes jagged and littered with
rotting souls of nameless, faceless slaves,
wretched and beautiful in the infinite tremor of
black and restless slumber.
The cloud armies of envy await empty words from the
barbed tongue of the gold and rimmed Master.
Blind forces bend to the Master's will,
wielding his lustful hate, splaying through the
dark velvet mist, daring not to break the bonds of
No dawn shall come to those chosen to worship at the
feet of the soulless Master...