A pale light cast, and a frigid wind stirs.
The darkness howls, the ancient dirge,
As the woods rustle in their soft, rasping whisper,
And the oceans moan at the turn of vesper,
And as the hubristic eagles and boastful songbirds,
Cower in their lofty manses,
Come the echoes of a thousand lost souls,
Ensnared in torment, and wreathed in agony,
Their lives a chorus, in woe’s symphony.

A foul mist, stalks these lands, following the cruel winds’ screech
For light dies here, as does all within its reach,
And where there lives neither order nor sight,
From therein it heralds, this dreaded blight.
For it is born of something, beyond this world,
Primal and untamed, unsought and unnamed,
Vile acquaintance to heart and mind,
The blackened dove, to humankind.

Bones shall rattle, echo and shake,
Its hunger un-sated, a thirst un-slaked,
Beast so many named, yet ne’er neither seen nor heard.
It rends through spirit, and soul and thought,
And mauls the senses,
In cruel irony to its birth.
The ill-gotten child of sin and sanctity,
What once was beauty, now monstrosity?

Mother to cowardice, father to hate,
Brother to treachery, and cousin of dark fates,
All beings under sun and sky,
Yield to its shrouded visage.
Child of life, so tainted and marred,
Guardian of wits, now broken and scarred.

“Of what does he speak?” one might say,
“What twist of fate altered its way?”
“From which saint, did birth such heresy?”
“What poisonous warp is this travesty?”
Then hear this, and know it true,
“He” speaks of one, and yet a million too.
“He” speaks of wrath, and betrayal and ruin,
“He” speaks of devastation, corruption and fraud,
“He” speaks but one name, whose but whispers one can hear,
He speaks of the thing, we all call Fear.