and as pale as death himself,
haggard from his infinitely
long trek amongst the lamplights
in the sandbox of the gods,
Up, upon the rock he stands.
the place no other has dared trek or
where flesh had failed the spirit,
above the open blue sky of opportunity,
Eyes of gold befitting lion heart and
rags, damp with blood and mud,
manifest the deepest, darkest
room within mortal hearts.
Thunder in hand; the King's throne.
and gazing down from his summit,
a chuckle, or a crooked howl
escapes the cracks of his
The peak is cold, a zephyr cuts
like a blade of ice. The hearth is empty,
the table has withered, the gods
are betrayed by Death.
and as desperate as life herself,
outstretched his hands, unclean
from Pandora's demons, clutching
at that which he gave up;
Hi! Sorry I haven’t been posting on hp recently...here’s one of my favorites!