In the Darkest Hours of the Night

In the darkest hours of the night
He stood aside and watched my plight
And let me burn

My hopes and dreams he wished to spurn,
And so he left me in that raging fire,
Which was to be my funeral pyre,
And let me burn.

The shining uncharted future that I was never to see,
Except with dead eyes, soundless lips, and a corpse to be,
He let me burn.

And my progeny,
Never to be,
He let them burn.

For though I knew they were not there,
And you could see only me in that deathly lair,
They too burned.

All the good I might have done
All the bloodless wars against fate I might have won,
He let me burn.

Yet I knew one day he too would burn.

For though he had not set the fire
That was to be my funeral pyre
He did not run or cry
Or seek help, but instead stared and sighed,

“Oh what fortune or fate
Now dare to state
That this man deserves this,
When all should have eternal bliss?”

Yet when he burns
His fate I shall not spurn
For though vengeance may be sweet
I hunger now for sweeter meat.

But when I bring my killer down,
And dash to pieces his golden crown,
I shall not be glad
But instead a little sad,
As I watch him burn.

In the darkest hours of the night,
I stood aside and watched his plight
And let him burn.