johnathan-teitleyWhisper

American
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Lore of the LupusThe Goddess of the Moon dethroned; hark, she strikes- / the hunter she remains. / Her next prey she takes,
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CacophonySilence / is subject. / Infinite and default.
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Knight of the Sorrowful CountenanceI was taught to be a knight; / tattered favor streaming from my lance tip, / and agéd honor my saddlemate.
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AcheDark shadows move, fro and twain, / From twin heights that tower, merging into one. / Center your delight 'neath the far flung moon
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The KingThe King is dead, / but did he ever live? / Maybe once as a fanciful prince, prancing and prating in roguish youth,
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Would You Know Yet More?With eyes glazed in dull brilliance, / Clouded with absence of thought / We trampled reason,
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Ancient ElegyWhen you die, they will call it duty. / Bound up in honor, wrapped in glory, / you will find your grave.
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