Tale of Death's Challenge
So when the webbed-tide snares the lunars nether recesses in its glow casting shadows that arise among the craggs wedged beside some cliffs of common confirmed debris of the unnamed fallen heaps of mucked mired forgottned decay of worthless grime not meriting the struggles of a just reclaim promptly caused to fester including the residue of the reprehensibles whose lacking morals that from some particular decedent, intrusive spirit of Ne'ermere that steer souls to the steppes of the moors, where thou commands those hounds that wish to sever your sensitive skins and drain your spirit waters down that moat where your convictions will spark a lifetime of despair, honors the ambling of the blood moon of its wayward course of trailed afflictions that you wished and begged for death's swift visit for the determined inklings inscribed on petals of the columbine and their guarded secrets, steeped in the devil's brew of stirred concoctions meant for the hags of Ne'ermere and the warlocks of destruction and mayhem who pounces playfully on their prey of the misguided who are filled with disillusioned words that are as hollow as you, e'er stretching the imaginative liquified existence exposing a mirage of iniquities galvanizing its hold of treasured happenstance of certainties lost, fulfills a page of the intrepid who is but a shimmer presenting hope a hand of salvation gathered up in a smotherance and they'll all flicker away, anointing souls spared the vacuum of insignificance for doomsday is here bridging the channeled souls in their mortal state of decay of their tenous grasp of withered mass of fiberous veins where remnants of vigourous life succumbs to their true demise of the incredibly hideous and the indescribable now in the passage way between dying and death of their heinous acts of torturous screams bellowing throughout the chamberous pits of the unwanted dead where the lame, mute, and deaf search the living dead for their body parts, of severed limbs, eyes that hang out of the eyesockets, the unjointed tendons that flay about ever so freely, stenched air that festers while not only choking of whatever remians, seemingly an act of deceny, bestowing on the residue of assemblage from the former occupant, might be afforded an instantaneous journey into the sunrise of the...everlacking.
2019 September 18
Copyright © Hilo Poet | Year Posted 2019
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