Thursday, April 25, 2013

The Whisperer

Dusk settles amongst the blackened soil
I hear haunted gasps, "don't listen," in toil

A forgotten road, paved in ancestral tears
Resurrects words-of-caution between my ears:

"The Whisperer wanders in ash and shadows
Seeking the pure, from dreams to gallows

"With hands pale grey and blistered black
He spreads forth his whispers, from a sowing sack

"His whispers burrow into the purest of soil
Spreading its roots of deceit and spoil

"They grow through your veins, diluting the blood
Turning your heart to blackened, cold sludge

"The Whisperer then entices you down this forgotten road
Tempting you with pleasures and treasures of gold

"Your heart starts to pound, 'where does this lead?'
His whispers control you, as you feel your ears bleed

"Leading you down in his hollowed, dark grave
He begs you to scream, as soil covers your face

"And from dusk until dawn, forever enslaved
The Whisperer will throne you, shackled in chains

"Give heed to my words, it's not too late
Turn back now, for the Whisperer doth awake."

                                              - By Jared Dyer

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