Nathrangking

Poem #17                                                                 Fantasy in Shadow

Chains drawn from shadows blessed by those who would dare contravene laws made real in the forges of primordial deities bind all of reality. Poison drips down and tears flesh from bone exposing awful agony for all of the world to know. Pitiful cries ascend to the heavens calling for swift spirits to descend and deliver justice for those whose forms have withered and been rendered without power. Weapons not of any describable steel or iron cleave walls once thought to be unassailable. Oceans roil in a storm that only grows in intensity as it seeks to consume everything that it can take under it's influence. From the furthest distance its winds are a cooling breeze that chases the oppressive heat that stands in opposition to its dominion. However, the depths of this maelstrom contains malice and trickery bound together in opaque glass. None seem capable of standing firm before the fires from above and the unforgiving cold. Demons twisted and rancorous sing and dance to music that if mortals could hear them they would never cease spilling tears of contrition for whatever crime brought these monsters to their gates. Blood drains slowly into the waters and boils upon the doorsteps of crumbled citadels. Languishing souls turn this way and that, but cannot escape the prison which has damned them in ways that few could ever conceive of in the darkest of nightmares. What vitality exists in this place seems to be only a dream. Inferno and ice are together shattering all of the bonds that hold existence firm in its place. One cannot wake from that for which one is already awake. Gates hold firm if you can. The chains, storm, and heat must eventually fade as all things do. When time forgets them will the cries be remembered or will they too be only imaginings in a place hidden from the vision of those who know not what they see?