POEM -3- End Of Myths

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• Tales Told By Poetry    POEM -3- End Of Myths

  From the lips of Athena,Curses sealing fate flow,Crafted in unperfected perfectionThus he is made,Blemished by the irony of beauty,And the wrathful soil of edom,Thus he is made,Potted by the clay of hell,Thus he is made,And the agony and mischief of Lilithu,Thus he is made,In angered rage of Zeus's thunder,Thus he is made,And by the darkest magic of Hécate,Thus he is made,The gods imperfect blessing, Shall be their incessant fear----and their endsFor the era of the end of myths is come.This poem is about a creation of the gods, which was later regretted due to such level of power he has accumulated from their own blessings. At creation, they gave their blessings but years gone by, curses rained, curses they expected to destroy their creation but perhaps, it was late alrea

• Tales Told By Poetry    POEM -2- Ere The Broken Bonds Of Hell

  Mirror to eye,Two realms desire,Austere and ad-infinitum stifling jitters----Cradl'd to the soul,Dawling over and feeding on thee blanched,Till rust of evil, lays perfection clowned aloud.Coaxed by the beguiling vox of heinousness,All espied is the whispers of the specter----And from the hem of its tongue,Words of trepidation, dire and death holler.The woven filaments of fate belonging to the progeny begotten,Plied into the garb of apparel yet to be taken,Destiny collared by thee unknown,Cloaked in twilight,All left to see is what is to come and perhaps, nothing more,365 days, it enunciates,Ere The Broken Bonds Of HellThis poem serves as a teaser for an upcoming book "Ere The Broken Bonds of Hell." It deals with a lad whose life has been tormented by whispers of a specter forcing her to take upon h

• Tales Told By Poetry    POEM -1- Born By Power

  A new Epoch,Springing by the quietus of one, One precious...The coeval, Thee to come, they say,Shall be man's incessant fear...Eclipsed amongst men, Hades triumphOf demise and tenebrosity,Of the ambience of malevolence----He is what he is called,For of the death of one,His seeds flower like the foliage of autumn.Years psst, all hopes lost,His essense capped acclaimed in perpetuum,His presence and significance crowned archly inevitable...Le youse, one who queries death arises,Brought forth of life and of death into existenceOzais, he be called;Thee who quashes the victor ludorum...Triumph may behoove----Nevertheless words written by the cobblestoneLave not.A new epoch engendering by the quietus of one,Thee next, thee who awaits, as heard shall be;The