A.T.
Silver mist falls from blackened stars,
Glimmering in the ruins.
A slave infested town,
Burned to the ground by their faith.
Societes have crumbled.
Regimes brought down by the smallest stones,
But none so complete as this.
An angel rests his wings as dusk falls,
Cherubic face bruised and battered,
By the will of the deceased.
Hardened eyes gleam with blood-lust,
At the faces of the worshipers,
Tourturers, and saviors.
A curse falls silently from his lips,
Standing there in all his fallen glory.
Uttered with the utmost hate and disgust,
It breaks the thousand years of silence, solitude, and suffering.
The silver mist parts its' way around this fallen angel,
As if it fears to touch him.
He cackles with madness,
And goes about slaying all the unworthy.
Justified in his means,
The blood-lust nourished within the hour.
Lick the blood from the sword,
Enjoy the thrill of their terror before the final execution.
The blood of the dead never tasted sweeter.
He stops to survey the chaos,
The wasteland that had been created,
By hate and fear of the unknown,
And smiles with manic glee.
Insanity overcomes him,
And leads him to mutilate the bodies of instigaters,
Though they already laid still and cold with death.
Caught in this vicious cycle,
The angel lays waste to the ruined land,
And takes flight heading for another place,
Where he can believes his actions will be justified,
And his delusions will be quieted.
Silver mist falls from blackened stars,
Glimmering in the ruins.
A slave infested town,
Burned to the ground by their faith.
Societes have crumbled.
Regimes brought down by the smallest stones,
But none so complete as this.
An angel rests his wings as dusk falls,
Cherubic face bruised and battered,
By the will of the deceased.
Hardened eyes gleam with blood-lust,
At the faces of the worshipers,
Tourturers, and saviors.
A curse falls silently from his lips,
Standing there in all his fallen glory.
Uttered with the utmost hate and disgust,
It breaks the thousand years of silence, solitude, and suffering.
The silver mist parts its' way around this fallen angel,
As if it fears to touch him.
He cackles with madness,
And goes about slaying all the unworthy.
Justified in his means,
The blood-lust nourished within the hour.
Lick the blood from the sword,
Enjoy the thrill of their terror before the final execution.
The blood of the dead never tasted sweeter.
He stops to survey the chaos,
The wasteland that had been created,
By hate and fear of the unknown,
And smiles with manic glee.
Insanity overcomes him,
And leads him to mutilate the bodies of instigaters,
Though they already laid still and cold with death.
Caught in this vicious cycle,
The angel lays waste to the ruined land,
And takes flight heading for another place,
Where he can believes his actions will be justified,
And his delusions will be quieted.
![[Ashes][is][Ashes]'s avatar](https://a1cdn.gaiaonline.com/dress-up/avatar/ava/a0/32/52a5de971d32a0_flip.png?t=1298872614_6.00_01)
