Frozen deep down, below ancient soil
festering in the deeps of the earth as roots
through flesh to the bark of trees entwining
centuries of death into flourishing miasmas
of brooding oak.
Forever the blood of flesh & the dust of bones
has risen & twisted into the forest tapestry
archaic death scattered to bring life
to endless labyrinths
of desolation,
desolation for the weak
& wisdom for the strong.

Wands of blackthorn & sickles of yew
carved from beneath thick sheets of ice
dwelling silent is the armory
of the nightshade predator

Death by the pack shall not be the fate
of those who seek to mourn

The light of the sun shall never touch this place
their alters shall never erect & the scum shall meet a coldest death
for this is ancient ground proclaimed by those who roam the
cold mazes of frozen centuries.

ash, yew & blackthorn
build the temple
enshrouded with ice & purest winds

by the shades of night the powers arise
& the predator shall then feast

Auras drained & flesh torn asunder
your death shall not be remembered
unlike the countless fallen before
amidst the cold grounds of these woods
yet beneath the soil your bones
be taken & crumble beneath the earth

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