The City of Slowlake
Violent, pure, and a mess,
Darkness roars in the presence of night.
A candle with a flame; a seer of light,
Awakens to the highest of heights,
Arises from a state of sleep,
Arises from a prison; a trap;
A thief of time that you will never get back,
A predator who learnt to burn what may wish for a return,
Of a life that offers what he had lacked.
His flame starts to grow, but his mortality will shrink.
Alive and well, but unable to think.
Fearless and holy, positive but lonely,
Darkness says, "Their hearts have begun to blink."
She wages war, a battle of sorts,
"I'll run you through with no remorse!"
She marches to Fire, conspired as a liar,
In revenge she attired from skeleton to corpse.
Fire sighs boredly, nothing lives for him.
Mind abundant as light; light that shines as dim.
Fire grabs a rope, visiting war with hope,
Darkness falls too low, as the end of sin.
The moon didn't fall.
The sun didn't rise.
And death didn't call,
The dark they despised.
However, instead,
As war travelled to bed,
Renewed, and undead,
Together they bled.
Copyright © Amily Watson | Year Posted 2019
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