The Inner Dark

In the gleam of the Dragon’s eye
Circles turn, shadows burn.
Shades enslaved to a destiny of ruin, moving wordlessly to a tune only the damned hear.
The battle lines are drawn, the whetstone ground.
Blades upon a field of wheat. A fatal sustenance, the feast table groaning under the harvest of blood and shredded flesh.

The World turns and shadows churn
When doubts reign free and the specter of kinship recedes
Empty gestures, hollow words flung like chaff to the wind
Uselessly they grasp at memories of a by-gone era.

The World turns and light burns
But oblivious they remain, shielded from the glare by the shadows they weave.
The cool comforting embrace of dark delusion, protective nebula for milky white orbs, sensitive yet sightless .

In the Dragon’s Eye,
A maelstrom of despair and desires
The multitudinous hands reaching out, grasping, flailing as they entwine
Bloodstreaked tentacles ensnaring the blind to partake in mutual misery.

Skeletal figures traipsing to Hecate’s tune, morbid conjurations in the gathering gloom.
As the shades march on, the clanging manacles ringing in rhythm to Hades’s clarion call