Welcome to the Gloomy Hollows
of Spookinite ValleyEst. Sept. 2012
Hour of Unrest
Written by Benjamin Fouché
I find myself here beyond dusk once again,
Some distant place with no name—here I remain.
Shades from past centuries long gone and decayed
Blanket the moors and mountainsides—their stones, grayed.
Reflecting in the black waters of the fjord,
A full moon declares its long reign—the night lord.
Here it seems that there shall come no tomorrow,
For only the stars scarcely seen, I follow.
Solitude is the dark wine which I ingest;
“I am a bleak outsider,” I once confessed.
For no soul can harm me in isolation.
And this need not bring about desolation.
Ah, within the false comforts of the bright sun;
Deceit and contempt are its poisons I shun.
One too many thorns and daggers have bitten
Deeply into the love I had once written.
Yet from this place to which no one can travel;
I shout, “My nature you cannot unravel!”
For you all have exiled me from your empires.
But I shall watch when high flames collapse your spires.
In vain you madly chase all earthly glories.
Death is always the end to all your stories.
In the end, I shall witness your tragedy,
With none left to pen your woeful eulogy.
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