Of Gods and Demons

Come find me, wandering at the edge of reality
Listen to me, whispering the secrets of your life
Look at me, fading out of the horizon

You need find nothing, this is eternity
Hear the words of your elders, they are but truth
Those images are a poorly made construction

Feel the waves of death wash over your mortality
Hear the pain and suffering with all your strife
See the looming fate descend upon you like a titan

Know my face, do not give into such vanity
Use this sword to fight it's betrayal, it will show you the truth
You are far to important to fall prey to seduction

Wake up, discover that your world is an island
Break through, cut your way out with that knife
Stand up, let it wash over you with all it's totality

My world is whole, this is blasphemy
You will die if you continue this pursuit
Do not force me into repercussion

Breathe in the ashes of what once was Zion
Love the chaos as if it were your wife
This is the true world with all it's irrationality

Forget those words, trust in my sanity
Hearken back to the stories of your youth
That thing at the edge wishes only your destruction

*Insert Name Here*

What happens when we fall?

When we're beaten battered and have given it our all?

Why is it that we hit that wall?

Fearing for our lives we take off running

We escape one fate only to and think ourselves oh so cunning

But we can never stop what is coming

All our lives devoured, lost in that thing's maw

Light fading, air thinning, praying to find it's flaw

head pounding screams gone quiet, a heart that may never thaw

what salvation is there to be had?

When your damnation armors you, ironclad

What holy war can be fought with a god gone mad?

Thoughts on the Abyss

In the black, there is but silence or so they would have you think. But what of those voices you hear, when staring into the abyss? Is it the abyss from where these voices come? Or is it from ourselves? Someone once said the when you stare into the abyss it stares into you, but i wonder if it isn't ourselves staring back out of the abyss. Why would some external force conspire to do what our hearts do so well? A core tenant of Buddhism is that pain arises from desire, but why remove the desire to erase pain, when desire a core component of the human condition. Then too would pain and suffering not be essential to the maintenance of ones soul? Is not pain the fire in which we temper our soul? And what of joy? The quench in which we soothe the fire. But unlike the lucky steel, the soul must be reforged, again and again. Like a moth to the flame, we pursue joy only to be laid low by our sorrows. 

How many I wonder, have been beaten by their sorrow, consumed, destroyed by it. What then, of those lucky enough to never know the true depths to which it will drag you. Oh they think they might, they may offer a hand in ignorance of your plight. With such speed that hand is revoked when they glimpse a mere portion of the darkness, those who do this have not known the true heart of sorrow. There are those who will still try to help of course, ignoring the truth as if it were some falsehood, some creative construct by a weakened mind. Then those "helping" hands begin to do the only thing they truly can, and you are strangled by them.

The Game

Don't you hear the crowd?
Their cheers, the victory chants.
The thrill of the fight flowing through.

Your move is coming, stand proud.
And don't let the lights put you in a trance.
Didn't you see my move?

Of course not, I didn't make one.
I'm just a loser who hasn't the skill to compete.
So I forfeit, take the victory you crave.

Rejoice, your attack has me undone!
Now tell me, isn't the taste of victory sweet?
I'm sorry, I can't hear you from your gave.

Dethroned Kings

We once sat, broken wings, under a shattered sun.

Our armies undone;
A war neither could have won;
Peace if only there was one.

We once were kings;
Oaths bound by sacred rings;
Those too lost, like so many things.

We stood preparing again for combat;
Ignoring what our war had begat;
We never could have foreseen that.

The Thing came, was it something new, or something so old we forgot?

Wings unfurled we fought;
Oblivious to what it sought;
Death was all The Thing brought.

Unprepared for what did ensue;
Far from The Thing we withdrew;
And sought safety far from it's coup.

For our vengeance we brought the flame;
Unaware of what we became;
We found what The Thing sought to reclaim.

My history in brief.

An eternity I have fought.

The struggle through endless hordes.

Battered, broken, always standing.

The Demon and his weapon of Thought.

Whispered in the dark, his venomous words.

A war won at great loss, with fire so astounding.

The Templar, and the Wrath he wrought.

The Demon was his undoing, beaten by the Two-Thirds.

Darkness must exist for those Shining.

Triumvirate we stood determined to defy our lot.

And so sleep came, the resting of guards.

And grew the Darkness beyond Understanding.

There is no enemy, no battle which can be fought.

Our fires die, The Demon can not navigate this land.

Templar's shield trying to hold back the enveloping.

 Weapons drawn we prepare to do all we know.

But how is the destruction your Antithesis sought?

Backs to the dying fire we prepare for a last stand.

Jaded, we try to ignore the lone hole in The Darkness developing.

Is Hope is a luxury The Cursed must forgo?