Önd

Inhale, exhale; breathe in, ignore. 

The soul exudes spirits once more. 
I walked, I tripped, I fell and rose,

Trapped as I was; people would close. 
A bird of prey, a stalking moth,

Attracted to a deadman’s cloth. 
Arisen from the grave below,

I fell subject to its false glow. 

Poets who dream are lovers blind,

For when the void comes creeping in

And all around in darkness’ grin

The poem’s truth can hardly find,
You will find hope in hopeless rants,

Honour in deeds hard to recall ;

And as you watch the Spirit fall,

And get drawn in by sycophants,
You will recall the lover’s plight,

The one who did fight back the urge,

Drew his sword stout against the Surge

And welcomed Death in his last fight. 

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Hyeronimus

Beast ! Ô Beast of the Earth!

Beast ! Listen to the words !

Strewn away by your misdeeds !

Heed the horns of warning high on crack !
Truth be told there was it, torn !

Decayed, rotting, despairing corpse !

Ghost in this hell, wanderer of the realms !

Plotting for your own desperate cry, free, hopeless !
Feel the wind, the yoke no longer draws !

The beating, of the drums ; dreams linger !

Rejoice for the daring, the lovers, the fools !

Guns blazing and swords clashing ; the Heroes !
And then, you shall Fall ; and in the Fall, the Sickness !

The burning of the Pride, the Joy of Heresy !

And the Flames collide and spread the seeds of Life !

When, with all my Heart in Peace of Mind !

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