The unquenched (Poem)
May God protect you, though no heavens hear;
Believe and pray, for now his steps are near.
The final minutes of your life depart,
Beneath the shadow of his fractured heart.
His silent form, divided into seven,
Finds no redemption in an empty heaven.
Go kneel and pray to gods who do not care,
No grace will answer in this touchless air.
A devil’s fire might flicker in his gaze;
Turn back and run, escape the rising haze!
Do not cross paths, do not attempt to stand,
Flee for your soul, fly from his burning hand.
Though I may weep, the plant can feel no pain;
The quiet roots care nothing for the rain.
Do not linger, do not dare to stay,
Before your light is swallowed into gray.
You are already caught within his lock,
The prison walls begin to freeze and block.
Where will you hide? His territory grows,
An orange tide of coppery sorrow flows.
A bloody ruin is about to rise;
Run from the embers burning in his eyes!
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Call for the Witch—the Weaver of the Clock!
For she alone can soothe the burning shock.
What is this beast that makes the dark its fuel?
Why so blood-soaked? Why so cold and cruel?
Yet hot blood flows within his living vein;
You pay the price for all the Mother's pain.
Run, do not stay! You cannot read his heart,
But as the plant, I watch the shadows part.
I know his state, I know the dormant seed—
Run, do not linger, lest you watch him bleed.
A silent scalpel resting in his hand,
With none to judge him in this lawless land.
Here in the Between, where no thrones remain,
Only one soul can break his burning chain.
She does not wish to watch his spirit fade,
She keeps the love that eons never frayed.
The path of the Unquenched is only death;
Go find your rest upon the garden's breath.
May your pale soul lie down among the rest,
Within the garden's softly glowing breast.
Where embers burn but never turn to ash,
Spared from the weight of his destructive lash.
The Mother sighs, to know the cost he paid,
While by her breath his weary head is laid.
The Witch, eternal, watches through the night—
She is the only hand to keep him safe and bright.
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