|Agonia.Net | Policy | Mission||Contact | Participate|
|Article Communities Contest Essay Multimedia Personals Poetry Press Prose _QUOTE Screenplay Special|
￭ in return for your navy blue shirt
- - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
2009-12-23 | |
When black candles dance to an overture,
And the Light fades,to become less pure.
When hands go numb, and hearts become cold,
That is when I... shall become old.
In a massive disdain of an old, broken dream
I feel the ages past, the fire I had once,
The ice that fills me now,stands inbetween
To urge me to taste your poisonous chalice.
In the drops of a mystical rain, I see once again,
The old,dark coves, guarded then...yet all in vain
For all that was... now seems to perish,
And one has none...whom to cherrish
I have no reason now, to fly away,
No reason still, to walk astray,
For I shall become one with ice, one with the Moon,
For which I fought then,in the cold Winter Noon.
The revered Gods that once were are gone,
For I am one, and revenants are none.
My blind eyes see what others cannot,
I swept from cries,mesmerized by one thought
Of the cruel Moon that hangs above
The angels fallen,who never hove.
See through my eyes, the despair of your progeny,
Smell the fleur du malcontent, the saint of Domremy
When the onset of Heaven,left with her screams,embraced by fire,
We saw the bliss in her eyes,when we were all dire.
Fraught in despair, I seek Thee now,
In thy Halls, I take my bow.
For the Winter is here, and my punishment severe,
And thou art my father,and thou I revere.
I left my sword aside, in ages past,
For peace was then...within my grasp.
Yet, the true nature of your Son is one,
Never to rest, unless all is gone.
To enter thy Halls, in Victory or Death,
When thou would call me,with thy Holy Breath.
In ages past, we fought by your side,
The brothers of Swords, the ones who never die.
Einherjarrs we all became,
never to be the same,
In your Halls to fight,
'Till we would again... face the Blight.
And yet I've now fallen, back in epiphany,
For I am tired of this World's dire crewelty.
I seek thy words of wisdom, I ask thee,
To sent Munin on my arm, for I need to see
Thy Halls once more, for I miss them much,
In this winter's winds, as all stands without touch...
For I need to rest, as I tire,
In the cold,surrounded by fire.
|Home of Literature, Poetry and Culture. Write and enjoy articles, essays, prose, classic poetry and contests.|