The curse of Un-living unhinges even one as proud
Guilt alone could undo one’s wicked past
Titles I have sought by might & rumour
Tyrant, King, Reaper, Hound, Eater

Once,
Impaled foes fills my moat
Crescendos of screams, in symphony
With the hums of my throat

From the jugular
My canine harvests red elixir
Damning my thrall to reluctantly
Creep along my crimson mantle

All this time taking, I ache to give
Would this year be Turtă dulce
Or Clătitele cu gem?
Native delights that would surely
Bring out those little goblin’s grins