Slow rise, unconscious smoldering of precut pleasures and wont desires,
becoming the wild roll of spooked eyes, reflective onyx fires.
Shadows covered his path, both before and in back
scratching and clawing into his sanity, filling every crack.
They gathered like tiny demons in Karmas wake,
drooling and spitting unto those whose volley a chance to mistake
this undone being of wrath and insidious hate,
for a simple creature with his fortunes to make.
He was barely corporeal in his wavering form
hanging in and out of reality, a sin reborn.
This was the time of kings and soldiers, of violence untamed,
and of accented guilt who face was unnamed.
He hungered for something as sudden as rain,
to spill virgin blood upon the earth and end this suffering and pain.
But as he searched the streets and rejoiced in his glory,
climbing webs of tresses story by story,
he could feel his own power beginning to corrupt his soul
mourning the blackness, the bell ringing its toll.
For once the anger rang that clear,
to stave away his mortal fear
and to the beating heart he swept,
his garrote wire thick without regret.
A last breath was drawn, as Karma calling was near,
nothing, no scream, dull eyes swimming with tears.
This man, this beast whose life was to end
had had his last whore, these wounds would not mend,
and the wraith of stalking indifference laughed last
as wrapped hands pulled taught deaths embrace to cast
infernal darkness and the pits of hell
to creep upon him, no tales to tell.
A widow would learn of her husbands transgressions,
through a priests chosen eulogy of his own discretion.
Karma licked his lips, the mans body sunk
to the hard stone below, his cowl pulled up.
Stoic again this warrior monk,
he passed forgotten into near darkness blurry
Soldier of sin, Saint of fury.
becoming the wild roll of spooked eyes, reflective onyx fires.
Shadows covered his path, both before and in back
scratching and clawing into his sanity, filling every crack.
They gathered like tiny demons in Karmas wake,
drooling and spitting unto those whose volley a chance to mistake
this undone being of wrath and insidious hate,
for a simple creature with his fortunes to make.
He was barely corporeal in his wavering form
hanging in and out of reality, a sin reborn.
This was the time of kings and soldiers, of violence untamed,
and of accented guilt who face was unnamed.
He hungered for something as sudden as rain,
to spill virgin blood upon the earth and end this suffering and pain.
But as he searched the streets and rejoiced in his glory,
climbing webs of tresses story by story,
he could feel his own power beginning to corrupt his soul
mourning the blackness, the bell ringing its toll.
For once the anger rang that clear,
to stave away his mortal fear
and to the beating heart he swept,
his garrote wire thick without regret.
A last breath was drawn, as Karma calling was near,
nothing, no scream, dull eyes swimming with tears.
This man, this beast whose life was to end
had had his last whore, these wounds would not mend,
and the wraith of stalking indifference laughed last
as wrapped hands pulled taught deaths embrace to cast
infernal darkness and the pits of hell
to creep upon him, no tales to tell.
A widow would learn of her husbands transgressions,
through a priests chosen eulogy of his own discretion.
Karma licked his lips, the mans body sunk
to the hard stone below, his cowl pulled up.
Stoic again this warrior monk,
he passed forgotten into near darkness blurry
Soldier of sin, Saint of fury.
