Shadows of Tartarus

Great maw of ever-spewing blackness,
That which weighs heavily on my mind,
Countless barbed tendrils that ensnare mine soul–
A rose who’s thorns that held my heart Fixed ever in painful bind.
Great beast face me now!
Even now as my courage wanes,
Even now as my knees shake,
And hands tremble as the Earth under the march of Titans.
My spirit will know not rest until you are slain,
And cursed to wallow evermore in the Shadows of Tartarus.

Wicked creature who’s forceful roar would make a soft gust of world-rending storms,
That which tosses my insides like useless trinkets.
Endless rows of teeth gnawing down on my hind side –
a pit to hold even the giants of giants captive,
Trapped ever in hopeless misery.
Great beast come to me!
Even now as my sword arm falls,
Even now as my heart jumps apace,
And the salt of mine eyes floods the Earth!
Great beast look upon me!
Know mine anger!
My being rests not until you know pain!
Wicked cur, don thine leash and grovel evermore in the Shadows of Tartarus!

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Overcast: The Black Storm Ballad

Clouds roll in from all walks of the earth, block out the sun, and dominate.
Their power is subtle, but not completely unknown.
Nature responds, and it’s animals flee and seek shelter from the storm not yet come.
The mists blanket the lands, consuming all in endless gray. It is thick enough to rob the sight of the sharpest eyes.
No remorse, no mercy, only its complete control.
All are slaves to its grasp.
Desolation, solitude, suffocating confinement.
The skies begin to roar.
They are crying for reasons unexplained.
The sky’s tears flow, and flow freely into infinity, drenching all in their sorrow.
The small, weak, and slow are caught in the resulting floods, drowned and crushed by the rushing waters.
They never stood a chance.
Turbulent torrents sweep over all, devouring relentlessly like the gluttonous man— no restraints.
A hideous being so engorged that it has morphed beyond all recognition, and has abandoned all humanity. Forsaking beauty for its ugly and wicked form, such is the way of the storm.
Lights streak across the sky, from sorrow to rage, and from rage is born an unspeakable hatred.
Tears no longer flow, and instead the sky lashes out in its new found fury. Fires erupt where the rains failed to reach.
Nothing is safe, nothing is pure, nothing untouched.
Betrayed and defiled by the seemingly gentle heavens.
Cursed, kicked, and burned by the very sky whose beauty knew no end. A demon in an angel’s garb.
Allure is the tool of the despicable, used to crippling effect, as the Earth would know.
Ravaged, washed, and stripped bare by its now once known companion-turned-adversary.
Closest friends to complete strangers at a glance.
Once deeply intertwined, now acknowledging the wrongfully imposed separations of heaven and earth.
The skies quiet, the fury appears to retreat.
The tears flow once more, and the lament of the stars bleeds out over the lands.
Toxic, and sickening.
Their pain is fully realized in every single drop.
The flames are quelled, but the damage is done.
The scorched earth is not washed clean.
Instead, the mournful stream fuses with the ashes of hatred, breeding the black sludge of regret.
It is a bile unlike any other, the worst poison known by any being, both mortal and divine.
The disease spreads, carried by the misleadingly gentle winds.
Deception reigns once more.
The plague soon reaches every inch of land under the gray-owned sky, and by nightfall, the pitch had claimed the earth before ascending skyward. Blackness over all— a throne left in waiting— now claimed by the seemingly rightful king…

Death of Memory

A hard built castle, both tall, and unyielding. Renowned for its beauty, and the quality of craft. Center of respect, worship, and the heart of envy. Allwho lived, knew of nothing more, and of nothing better. Halls of fierce Ruby, deep Sapphire, and noble Gold. The pinnacle of all, and pinnacle forever.
Countless stories told in song, as long as millennia. Echoes of the monolith’s presence transcended both physical boundary, and the walls of time. The most wonderful of wonders, as it were sold. Unrivaled by other attempts, both new and old. Absolute in every way, as it would seem, but truly numbered in its days.
Vicious storms, and the wrath of weather wore it down. But amidst the Tempest, the tower refused to fall. Men, clad in hateful steel. Armed in desire, and shielded in rage. War declared, and fought not in days. Many moons passed, and the castle was left unclaimed. It halls, both stripped clean and left bare. No man, woman, child, not even air remained. Ah, though beaten black, and beaten blue, the castle still refused to crumble in full. No storm, man, nor war could end it all. A colder, harsher foe lurked ever near, always waiting just around the bend. And only it would beget this marvel’s end. From stones to dust, and from dust to wind.
An invisible force, seen by all, but recognized by few. Some would doubt, but it’s existence stayed true. It was only with time that its presence became clear. Ah, and so it was, the death of the tower was finally here.
From verses chanted by boisterous choir, with power dwarfing volcano’s ire, hushed to mere whispers fallen on deaf ears. From truths unchallenged, with evidences bold, dismissed as fairytales and legends old. No honor, no soul. Aye, all is gone. Every brick and every stone, but another piece in the pile of never-lasting treasure. No remnants of a tower that survived, man, war, and even weather.
To this day, no sadder ballad escapes the lips. The words contained are all stressed, and pained. If told in art of tapestries, it’s fabrics would all be as black a pitch. Sewn-in sorrow with every stitch. The signs of tragedy, the Death of Memory.