Skulls and torture,
blisters of pain,
boils on hollows,
that cry out your name.

Dark is the soul,
of the undead laid claim,
to the slaughtered foul,
in the wrath of rain.

Rank, rotten teeth,
in a smile from hell,
mired in the meek,
what bloody secrets you tell.

From the edge of a blade made of scorn,
to the tip of the tooth,
blows the war’s hallowed horn,
while in fire is the truth,
e’er to be reborn.

Seek out the sisters,
alone in the mists,
comfort the statues,
fallen amid trysts

And when from the edges of hell you return,
remember the souls of the wanton, forlorn,
For these are the creatures that like you will burn,
in the pits and fires, your souls to be torn.

Seek out the knowledge,
It cleverly fits,
in a narrative fashion,
that requires wits.

Remember to roll,
the dice to one side,
lest you see the toll,
once more; “You died!”