Diabolic Despot
He bears in hand old guiles,
And tons of wiles he wields
Across breath-mired worlds,
Upon sands of mortal fields.
His chilling senses waning fall,
And eyes darkish with tired sins
Beget thoughts bitterer than gall,
Prowling in malice-hoisted stilts.
With creeds devoid of marrow,
He's exchanged sense for myths;
Seeking to mar glittering faiths
Twice before the roosters crow.
His date with Hades' gallows
Draws nigh with every thrust
Of ill-tipped sword into virtue,
Muting Lord-chastened fellows
Unbowed by lead-heavy woes.
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