The deeps of darkness have been raised
As if  their being was kindled.
The warm night of peace is at an end.
The devil is he that rages unchecked this night, and there are none to withstand him.
The shield wall breaks, the cavalry routed, and the meanest defence stands alone.
What shall become of these men?
Death surely, for the miracles of poetry give lie to no truth. The curses of old are set in concrete.
Death has gained his presence here. He smells victory. For the living in their mundanity see only their existence.
This existence that means nothing in the tomes of the greater good.
There is no life, only sorrow.
There is no victory, only decimation.
Only the naive think thus.
Victory is not that of arms and steel.
Nor of land or gold or tales of which bards sing
Victory is in the fight that was fought.
For they that wage the good war, and fight the good fight, all is victory.
Defeat is beyond question. Life is not of consequence.
The act alone reigns supreme.
This isn't joy. This isn't glory.
For victory chooses  not the last man to stand, but the last to fall in defiance. Victory belongs to the departed. The victorious dead.
And such as it is. It shall end now.
And it's end alone worthy of song .
For all who bear witness to it.
We die, we do not flee.

The end is near.
The door opens
And with it a breath of air
But it is no benign gust
But the warm murky stench of his presence
He is waiting
The clouds enter, and with them bring
The precipitation of the end
Night, that beautiful nurse
Has fallen into the abyss
Overshadowed by blinding destruction
Of that bright inevitable light
Which breeds evil.
Oh what can stand before,
when even the staunchest resistance fails
The unbroken redoubt is surrounded
Beaten back but not broken yet
The end will come
And with it the glittering reminiscence
Of all that was in the peaceful winter
Summer scorches all.
We are overrun
But in these pockets that are still held we remain
Till when must we endure this unknown foe
Where are the songs of old and those who sang them
Where are the mighty, and the feats of arms renowned
The joys of battle and the songs of slaying
Or were they just a dream, that blew into the Blue Mountains
Strong, but ineffective, against those giants of rock
We are dwindling.
Every man watches another's back
But to what avail, when we exist only in demarcation
A mere clean spot on the sullied canvas of the world
As we knew it. It too shall fall.
There is no glory to be found here.
For even though we hold, we give way
A yard at a time. The dirge goes up a note
We strive to make a worthy end.
Yet to whom shall it be of worth?
There are none left to sing songs of our courage
No one to recite lays of this defiance.
Not even the foolhardy dare to  hope.
For there is no one to hope for.
We know of our end. We have made peace with this war.
It shall consume us.
We shall all fall, and yet, none will be left behind.

The game of death knows no bounds.
He is on our tail.

The flotsam of his being approaches.
Light slaughters the darkness.

The warm breeze is but the reek of his presence.
He is watching.

Killing is inevitable.
A whirlwind of shadow is upon us.

The fallen have passed into eternity
Those waiting, project their shadow.

Life is the realm of fruitless combat.
The dead have seen peace.

Victory is a degenerate passion.
Survival is glory.

Here, at the end of all things,
beyond, the grasp of hope
we have reached, and here it shall end
though all now is lost, I'm glad
that you lie with me, and lend
courage, at the fall of evil, but of us also
A fool's hope was what brought us here
over desolation and the edge of fear
where the realms are of the dead
the stars are strange and the clouds black
yet a new sun rises in times ahead
as we lie here, at the end of all things
A fallen friend, a broken dream
a mighty wood, a gurgling stream
sunder us from that far off home
a memory of another life, that was lost somewhere,
on the road that led ever onwards, but did not fail
as it passed through war and mighty horde
a promise grew, but no oath was laid
many mighty deeds, were trivial made
for what was to be won, was beyond all
fear, concealed in some remote corner
of a soul festering with gloom
in the search for the steps of doom
finding which,we now broken lie
at the end of all things
Over the sea the gulls cry
making the heart restless, for it cannot hope
to find healing,in the land of its torment and
over the sea the gulls fly, ever westward
therein alone lies deliverance, the grey shores are calling
where the dawn is silver, they are ever singing
of the end of evil, and in welcome
to those of us, staring at the door
the Undying Lands lie before, unseen by the mortal eye
revered in all the Elder lore
There the eagles bid us to go, into the uttermost west
Where though we may be whole again, we cannot forget,
we who were there, but were not slain
at the end of all things

The winds of the west blow
from hallowed undying lands
to lands east,over the oceans flow
into mortal realms where darkness lies
They stem from His thoughts,who dwells on his lofted throne
and transcends the realms of every age
giving life to that gentle breeze,
that has the power to assuage,ills
begotten when the girdle was built
sundering one and one from the other
even so the west wind fills,the chasm so deep
that was bourn out of the wrath,that once was
but now gently sleeps,in the west
from where the wind blows.
They breathe life into shrivelling palms
hope into tired arms,and strength when all else fails
For the winds alone remain,in union with the sea,of those
who of yore roamed in fellowship where man was found
in the deeps of the elder days,before the ships were set to sail
by the same wind,that still returns,for it has neither forgotten
not forsaken those who it left,on shores hidden from light
that does not burn,yet smoulders still in the hearts
of those who looked upon it,when the world was young.
So the west winds blow,but also return to lands where
they were birthed,carrying tidings of all things
that come to be,dark or fair,to the lords
who set it to wandering go,beyond,where no duty calls
and so does it also bring,the weary fallen,
to return home and grandly dine, in the halls
where their fathers are,in the west
from where the winds blow.

I flew on the back of a night so deep
Striving for the peace sought in my sleep

A girdle of flame enveloped my flight
Branding souls, with irons hot in my sleep

Alone and outnumbered,the foe unseen
He was within, with evil fraught in my sleep

Blistering in a furnace,the door mocking stood
Torturing a mind that the devil fought in my sleep

The downward spiral was unending, bottomless
Weightlessly crushing hope to nought in my sleep

There is no way out, only one through
The Victory of death, so dearly bought in my sleep

I fly eternally, without wings.
I have scoured this massive azure expanse ,for a century. I have fallen, I have broken, I have recovered ,and I still fly.
I gather tell from the winds, my wisdom, from the shadows, my refuge behind the sun.
I have spun, and I have been dizzy, I have dived and been exhilarated.
I sleep upon the clouds, yet I watch forever.
Storms do not trouble me ,rain does not quench me.I stay aloft and roam unhampered.
I see everything