The Fallen’s Realm


The Fallen’s Realm

Shadowman gazes at his domain
Whispers turn the wheels
A master pulls strings;
people dance like puppets
An antagonist above all, a wartime general

The slashes of fatal
oil seep from greens and leave
a stain in each crack of our naive realm
Possibilities left all to the king,
sentinels contemplate for impressionable recruits
From dust we are born to dust we will return
in the hands of a visible thief
Malady and demise are prominent armaments
in a white knuckled grip

His playthings run headless
A dragon kneels before the terminal trickster
Puppet master loses his rosy color in the leader’s pong

The phrase is “till the end do we part,”
but the wise know
it’s till the end do we all part
A collector of miserable souls;
the red eyed snake muffles their incessant wailing

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