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by Krum Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Other · Dark · #1929569
This dark poem is one told by the creator of a world that has forsaken him.
Bring me mortars, filled with lightning,
Bring me demons, blood-thirst rising.
For these mortals who I have created,
Deny me respect, Father of Kratos.

They obscure my message,
Blacken my words.
To justify their means,
They divert my herd.

Spewing lies.
Feeding my Other,
"Little Horn" dancing,
To souls that clutter.

Who cry, screech,
Beg and plead.
For past sins,
And warnings they would not heed.

This world once light-stepping,
Now plod through mud polluted.
With liars, rapists and thieves,
Intentions convoluted.

I shall take the few,
Who have yet to fall.
Into the entrancing darkness.
Then release them all.

Release the demons,
Goblins and beasts,
Who congregate in the halls of Hell,
Preparing for the Feast.

If my existence,
Exists the problem child.
Then Choice fleeing Responsibility.
Follow the damned, run wild.

My eyes bleed red,
For martyrs lost.
Come my children, fast stead,
Beyond Ragnarok.
© Copyright 2013 Krum (obiauth1 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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