Echoes in the Mist

Through ancient mists where sorrow's breath is cold, A spirit walks, a story to unfold. Not aimless now but burdened by the weight Of whispered grief that seals a tragic fate. The sunless world where hope is rarely born, Gives rise to shadows twisted and forlorn. No demons laugh but silence deep and vast, A chilling quiet from a future past. The raven's cry, a solemn, distant knell, A final warning of a truth to tell. We grasp for sense in fragments of the whole, To mend the fissures in a fractured soul. The oath of men, a promise etched in dust, Betrayed by whispers shadowed by distrust. The questions linger, stark against the night, A fervent plea for freedom pure and bright. Beyond the matter rising from the sin, A life unlived before it could begin. The patriarchs weep, their anguished voices raw, For firstborn sons consumed by nature's law. A battle waged not of the will but heart, Where strength and courage tear the world apart. The ancient craving born of primal flame, Ignites the wanting, whispers every name. Still, in the valley where the shadows lie, A different breath beneath a silent sky. Though death may claim and journeys find their close, A flicker rises where the true self grows.