The
dark lord on the fire
He
sits alone watching the glow
The
shadows dancing his eyes feel wary
Of
a time he knows nothing
The
horses of bargaining
The
pretenders will come
He
has to mend his fences
The
back stabbers must be contained
The
strings of vibration
It
echoes poorly on him
He
can't speak his mind
He
has his orders to keep quiet
The
pretenders march
Throwing
potshots at him
The
dark lord throws some woods
The
fire glow enlarging his shadow
There
was a time
The
web of his power spread
Now
he knew his power ebbed
The
wrong strategy the power faltered
The
little demons within his circle
Grinding
knives for the stroking cuts
The
wounds will heal but work must carry on
He
looks at the dancing light thinking of his own
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