by The Antagonist

Created on: November 13, 2009   Last Updated: February 03, 2010

There is a face that just stares; angry, lips curled in contempt.

Heavy eyebrows thus inclining in such angles; a dragon's mist upon the nose.

Callous face so torn asunder, gaping maw.

And in the eyes a yellow substance lacking warmth,

Amassing hate, lest it be found to be no nightmare.

Although in darkness, one can see a faint silhouette,

A muscled thing contorting, lightly brooding in malicious glory.

In the morbid presence none can seem to run,

With just a gaze of loveless eyes, the thought arrested.

So with a power over mind the thing controls;

And in the mind of his spectators, plague befalls.

The multitudes then stupefied, all claim to hold,

Upon their eyes, such perfect creature made of love.

Then with no twisted conscience they produce,

Upon the beast, a crown of laurel; potent king.

How can the mind, thing so complex,

Depose then, of such singularities?

So in their twisted loyalty the minions go,

Incurring first ignominy, conducing promptly to demise.

Such useless followers the thing detests;

The easy prey no adequate diversion.

Thus with the power in his blackened hand,

Violence ensues and skulls thus fracture.

And from his putrid innards fire so slowly burning;

To scar the face of those most loyal; horridly consuming.

Then when their entrails properly accumulate,

The thing will laugh and mock their dying gestures.

And while they writhe in agonizing death,

The beast will feast, indulging on their shattered limbs.

Thereupon the mind of such malevolence,

No nurtured conscience can exist;

The thing finds sustenance in every retrograded thought,

The darkest sort of which transpires

Upon the common mind of every man.

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