Artificial Nocturne

An impressionist’s pastel painting of the foe, Releasing unheard sighs of a sinner’s woe, Mere wisps of his charred and tainted soul, His empty eyes resemble burning holes of eternal coal, Seeing only deathly pale faces lined and worn, While following an eerie voice full of spiteful scorn, Leading him towards lost corners of insanity, Where he’s bound to serve ‘til the death of eternity. Eidolon creeps amongst the bonfires of hell, Where wretched souls burn and spasm in this fiery cell, Him, hidden in illusions his mind created the surreal, Captured spirit behind solid bars of steel, His timeless existence in oblivion and spoil, Still climbing higher and higher, to where he lays, Where Eidolon walks cloaked in sinful ways, A cloak befouled and woven in sin: A weeping widow’s rope-round-the-throat, A drunkard’s drowned body a-float, Greedy lord whom robbed the poorly, A psycho who raped his first child, mercilessly,                Their damaged souls tarnish this cloak of sorrow. (I know it isn't complete and it's kindda goosebump/nightmare material. Sorry about that.) © Copyright All Rights Reserved