At rage's end
At rage's end fury stories

blastimus but they since rose, and won the day.
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
Words retold.

At rage's end

Raging volcano, sweeping fire and brimstone, caressing the inner ring stone of the domain in which I hone the written word, with whom I feed the world, the plain of known, stories of gold,

of a mind bold, of memories retold, untold, repacked, on hold...

And they all explode when a memory's forgotten, with fury gotten, strenght of mind and thought of power, rage embeded when it all turns sour, love tormented my one and only blooming flower,

killed within the hour.

Burned to ash, returned to the soil, lost forever in unbearable toil, reborn from ash, and turned to silver, but nothing left to give her teary eyes,

that turned surprised when they saw my lonely guise...

Thunder crackling, the moon's battling the nighttime darkness with masterful prowess at wielding whitelight,

turning to darkbright innocent stars caught in the crossfire at the holy border of the empire of darkness and light, of wiseness and might, in lands out of sight, always out of mind,

but still raging nonetheless, and once one will press the other with bless, in a dimly lit hollow, alongside a mystic and bone marrow, the ritual will end, reality will bend,

fury released under the sign of the beast.

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