When sun succumbs to winter’s light
and day dreams deadly, battling night
Shades of black innocence, huddling there,
their passion now plucked; such fair despair!
That empty flower of barren truth,
bearing no burden ‘cept lies uncouth
Poor pallid prism, dirtied with age,
and tainted with witchcraft, violence, and rage!
Such is a story that many once knew
Accounts indeed vary, but often hold true
an encompassed oblivion, wrought from the dark,
my story begins now; with prudence do hark!