Shadows stir beneath iron skies,
The blood of gods in my veins lies.
With every step, the ground does quake,
And heaven trembles in my wake.

On throne of stone, my will commands,
A king of night with blood-stained hands.
I stand unyielding, cold, and tall,
None may oppose, none shall fall.

Whispers of fate in silence scream,
For in my grasp, the world shall bleed.
With each decree, the earth shall break,
The gods weep for the sins they make.

I reign supreme, the silent call,
None shall wield the axe but I—none at all.
In shadows deep, where light is frail,
I walk as king, the eternal trail.

Ash and ember choke the sky,
Universe’s own fury roaring high.
Fortunes crumble, kingdoms fade,
Yet none lament the price they’ve paid.

The blaze runs wide—men starve, men kneel,
But ruin plants what fire will heal.
From blackened soil, fate finds its thread,
Forged anew where hope once bled.

The path is jagged, lit by flame,
A trial etched in war and name.
Those who burn may carve the way—
Through serpent smoke and shadowed sway.

I do not flinch—not even breath—
Am I a seer, or bait for death?
My thoughts drift smokeward—dim, askew—
A mind invaded, cleft in two.

I dance on wires through fractured air,
Where silence shatters, wisdom dares.
Through fractured mirrors I am hurled—
Each step reveals a spiral world.
I follow cries the ravens rend—
Crowned by madness, I ascend.

Cosmic fingers sketch the void—
A dance of stars: serene, destroyed.
Beast and man in fleeting union,
Flesh and thought in strange communion.

Birds cry out with cryptic voices,
Hearts pulled toward endless choices.
What was truth now slips its tether,
Lost in tides that bind no weather.

Nations build with fear’s direction,
Walls of pride, not true protection.
Martyrs rise in flawed succession,
Stone to dust in slow regression.

Yet when the dreamers pierce the haze,
And light ignites the fractured maze—
As planes give way to boundless vast,
Your breath becomes the world at last.

The king owns nothing—yet all men kneel.
No crown adorns him; all thrones yield.
He walks where death and gods repent,
Each step a quake the Fates ne’er dreamt.

He loosed the nectar stars once brewed,
And forged new laws in iron mood.
Destiny crowned him, marked his soul—
The will that forges his own scroll.

In stillness deep, where shadows bend,
I watch, unseen, the long world end.
One pale hand stirs the winds to sigh—
The breath is lost; the soul slips by.

The earth still shivers at my touch,
Yet none take heed, nor feel too much.
Faint whispers drift through moonlit air,
While ether shrugs, too still to care.

Most strive to unlearn my name,
Denying me through wealth and fame.
I am the law, life’s final thread—
The end will come, and all things wed.

I string my bow ’neath star-flayed skies,
Where silence coils and mercy dies.
No tremor stirs my frozen breath—
I draw a line ’tween life and death.

The twang is wrath, the arc—a prayer,
Each arrow steeped in midnight air.
No shield withstands my patient aim;
I **** not for glory, but to end the game.

Cloaked in stillness, I haunt the rift,
A ghost whose gift is a final shift.
I do not miss. I do not flee.
The king won’t fall—he’ll cease to be.