Wraithly clouds above glare down,
the moon they each on shed a frown,
to say that they knew more than she -
and further spread – they cursed be!
But oh, despair they spread within
my soul when their truth-words they spin;
spider’s silken fetters binding
helplessly the hope that ling’ring
tangled in such satin, soft threads.
Men lay down to sleep ‘thin crypt beds,
eyes drifting open in sleepless-
ness to see the deep grave’s darkness
beneath the stone sepulcher door
their ‘temple’ bare upon the floor
for daring children’s games to shame
with stones thrown and sinful profane.
I feel pressure of blackness drown
out my life, jewel on it’s crown.

Entropic specters rise and drown
all in sorrow. See thru their frown-
ing eyes into sick and dark souls,
evils lurking within the coal’s
burning flames of infernal spawn;
here strong are weak, the Queen as pawn,
for they not see their morals lack
goodness – the light, absence of black.
Oblivion – pleasing darkness –
mirrors narcissistic blackness
within your own, twisted, dark soul;
you, that devil-spawned-mortal, toil
towards perpetual decaying
of those hopeful, on life resting
their virtue. Eyes gouged out to hide
the easy sight of darker pride,
my evil that of times long past
and still more jaded secrets last.

Blacker blade has sung its fell song;
song of sickness, death, and done wrong
in a world of shadow, play ground
within oblivion, where sound
screams of damned and tortured spirits
resound through wide, discordant rifts.
Cacophonous melodies rip
through the mind like the jester’s quip:
quick and sure and knife-piercing sharp,
stiletto impaling stringed harp –
ceasing emotions played as notes.
Now spells weaved, and memorized rotes,
work foul magick, infernal rite,
during impenetrable nite;
night when we in ignorance bliss
betray our spirits for dem’n kiss,
and play our hand at game of fate
knowing not that our deaths await.