Running through the forest of time,
The path give rise to darkened trees,
The mage come to a scene of great sublime;
He glares in astonishment and unease.
In the bleak of a fog come forth a palace
Fit for the majesty of a fallen king,
Behind the mage glows a fiend dark balas
And fly does he upon daunted wing.
Inside the manor sings a voice
So beautiful, yet sounds so dark;
The mage wanders tranced in the lyric's devoice
And saunters past the rooms demarked.
Yet into a space he trails into,
So hot, yet luciously warm,
Three he see's who ignite his desires,
And from them the tune rise into charm.
He stays in the trance, Is it an illusion?
It gives him pleasure, but feels wrong;
He fights the struggle of desire's urge,
And illusion melt into chaotic song.
The three change into demonic lustre,
All in black, and evil glare,
The Mage doth RUN in quickest run,
And the three come after, bring coldest air.
The mage stops running, a comfort grows,
The sanctum within him he now relies
To stifle the darkness which black gails blow,
And bring forth the evil's demise!
The Prayer he calls, And light is shown,
The lightless now diminished....
The forest restored! A Heart of gold!
The Nightmare is now finished!...
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Halloween is Right around the corner.. .
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