Darkend Spires

Standing on a darkend spire,

looking down at funeral pyres.

Beholding Death upon his throne,

as he kicks about the bones.

A hundred men who died in hate,

just one more soul lost to fate.

There i satnd all alone,

wishing i were home.

But no way back from this place,

lost in sin without grace.

Standing on a darkend spire,

looking down at funeral pyres.

There upon the throne, Death sit's,

kicking at my bones.

HOME        More tales of Woe from the DARK POET