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| Jun 6th, 2006 03:51 PM | |
| sspadowsky |
A little pome i done wrote Gathering Darkness no gust nor gale will quell the scent of death which roams this blasted land the heart shall pale and soul be bent upon the gloaming now at hand the desert speaks in wicked tongues of arid dust and cutting sand as midnight keeps its starry young afar from touch of mortal man hands put to flame to stay the siege of solitude and frigid night a stoic mask but humble liege in servitude of greater might dwindled yearning heart's december rev'ries burning down to embers a frozen, lonesome allegory tainted splendor and ragged glory hope's infernal spring in tatters swallowed whole where darkness gathers |
