Stygian


In autumnal twilight a man does walk.
Knowing his mission, he neither errs nor talks.
The leaves crunching benath his feet, no sound.

Into madness I descend.
From my companions death cannot me rend.
Faithful to them I forever will stay.

He releases the longsword from his hand.
The blood he's spilled stains a cerise land.
The wolf looks on, his howls cease.

I see snow falling, but today is not winter.
I try to see the faces, but my memories splinter.
A light alights.

The crescent shines brightly through the storm.
The branches above him in aliform.
His eyes piercing in death.

O, what angels do come now to me?
Can they deign to forgive my depravity?
I rise no more.

The monks his grave on the place did make.
They inscribed beneath his name in the slate
aeternus in saeculum.

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