Of Blackest Cold...


I made my way, under a frosted moon,

Into the vast of the iced woods.

Shiny, silver eyes, from the silent sky,

Saw, as my blackened weeped.


This would be my only comfort, the stillness,

Of a dead and frozen forest.

Only I breathe here, only I can breathe the cold.

And as the ice lays its touch on me,

I am resurrected.


As the winter accepts me,

I am embraced by a gentle snowfall.

Now the frost whispers my name,

And crystalizes the black tears in my face.

I am marked, with the face of a crow...

My throat is scarred from shrieks of pain.

Of blackest cold I am.


I hear no poetry, I see no emotion.

I see evil, I hear the cling of swords.


And then came the northern lights, to embrace my distorted mind.

In this eternal darkness I'll forever wander, forever dwell.

Throughout the ages, I am banned to be the outcast.

The shadows are of my only kin.

The End

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