Cinereus
A footstep drawn to sought An impeccable hubris adorned the chest They trudged nightβs ghastly field In their hand, a witty trigger of inked sheet
The pathfinder is en route Abysmally dragging their feet Crossing plethora of thorns Their flesh naked to scrap
The rotting stench of cadaver Only served as a magnetic pull Towards a throne of ashen Burnt and wasted from its usual gold
Let us count along And award them a satire hymn To the void filled core of those who fell Yes, fallen victim to their follies
With a cilice cuffing them at ground level And their wings splinted apart What purpose do they serve Other than means of embellishment?
For this glory that resounded In an abyss where none escape Us, pathfinders tainted the page With acrid inks in the colour of red
Lame imitations of a pride Merely showing marginal bravado This place has kept us alive By the end page burned to our sanity
Still, the night flowed alongside As a solemn company to those who seek Someday it would pay, yes But would it be your greatest escapade?
-A.ri.Ma
