Their cloaks deny
the shape of their intent.
They walk as men do,
triumvirate terrors of the snow.
They pretend fireside intimacy,
in truth seeking only succor
from the sanguine cup of a heart.
Where they pass
only wind and bones live henceforth.
Beware the Wizards of Ith!
Heed the sound of the midnight knock
and show your face at winter's door!
Let no occulted visage enter,
lest the morn find you
entangled in the web
of your own ignorance,
husk dry and empty
of all the essence that gave you life.
Recommended Listening:
No comments:
Post a Comment