The Blackened: The Ravenhead Scrolls #1

The blackened life, are sodden lives below forgetting rivers,

They the miserable clay, and they the fallen eagles that once, heavenly flew—

Known enemy to those of white-winged cloth, and head of gold halo

And whose fervent prayers are toward nothing, and enemy to

Harborers who pray and lay, to the God’s son who had been left to flay;

The Blackened arise of oily marsh, to blacken deceitful prey

Who had blot a curse on their heart, on the days when their lives glowed with grace

Now never they face the glint of sunny hour

For cherubs drew bow and arrow and the shower slew

The broiling muck of blackened worship at the pews

The Blackened in shadowed gloom and mien a-glower

The light,white, like acidic rays broom,

Their blackness seeped away into gutters

Their lives are eternal of viscous doom,

As they hide in darkest nook and revolting room,

While at the flush of the season’s bloom;

At not their name, nor their age, can they remember,

Except of that last light once stolen, that detriment now linger;

The Blackened, all deposit, that deadly light that from within hinder—

That bloody cry when their fates deny

Salvation, until they can deliver

The cause that they brood from, slipping their bleeding palm to cinders;

The Black from deepest night, and depthless hell

Where stand guard the haunting swell, of the cycle resound of the death knell

In years they dance as if minutes passed, for sweet revenge, that had since been fulfilled