The Mask Of Winters

Deathlord, Aspiring Poet

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Come distortured artists
Bitter things seek meaning
Even if they’re madness to behold
Once forbears to horizons
Where the dead stayed dreaming
Now nightmares waken souls
That fear the living’s toll

The Gods, the Shining Ones, the Empress
Three times moonwise stain thy graves
For words alone are at loss to trace
The face of today’s inhuman wraith

One half adrift in the vast abyss
Of despair and misery
The other a mask of rich red lips
Whetted by the fevers of belief and greed

Trespass these seven gates
To a world bloodlet to shades
Where Spirits
(Falling on deaf ears) bleat
Of their cold and coming Master’s race
In the seweres of Thorns
Stillborn to a trough anon
Dark miracles will hatch like plots
To dredge faeces to pearl their crowns

Enter Penteholocaust!
Two Aeons past, yet still Man grasps
At final straws to save his cast

The Dragonblooded Lords, lepers we shall not want
They betrayed us with lies
Their acrid pall as of the tomb
Reminds us how we rot inside

Gutted like fool’s paradise
Glutted on cruel appetites…

Holding court to chaos
Folding to far graver arms
A downfall fatal to all resounds
As orgies peak in self centred psalms

And if Her fate is not portent of Apocalypse
Then the comets that graxe nightskies
Will surely cleanse of wrongs and reichs
When you and I and all else dies…

It’s rotting down
This carcass Maggotropolis

Be prepared to fulfill prophecies
The glorious fall of a sin dynasty

Glutted on cruel appeitites
Gutted like fool’s paradise…

The Mask Of Winters

The Exalted of the Void nacon