A legacy of sand
is all that I have seen.
Longingly, the dead reach
for deserved glory.
Bereft they are of wings
(those their brothers once had).
This future has been realized
by my own blackened hands.

So many lives I've consumed,
as countless nights, I walk.
The gleam of my now, slick blade,
reflects against the night.
I've become my God's tempest,
beset upon this earth.
My lungs no longer breathe life,
merely a syndicate.

All I've offered...

Through my travels,
I have bared through ice and snow.
These pale eyes shall never
reveal what they know.
Vile and putrid is the aura I omit.
I shall still sheeply follow.

I am entombed within this flesh.
On winds I ride; burnt offerings, I give.

By these words, I'm comforted:
"Death is the bringer of equality,
making equal, those who suffer it."

And all I've offered has still not been enough.

"My lord," I cry whilst upon my scraped knees,
"my sins shall not be unpardoned?
I bear this curse as if it were my own.
But still, I am your silent follower."

Through my travels,
I have bared through ice and snow.
These pale eyes shall never
reveal what they know.
Vile and putrid is the aura I omit.
I shall still sheeply follow.

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