by Chance Motta

Created on: March 15, 2007   Last Updated: May 17, 2007

Zanbar's pleas go unheard
The truth's go unseen
Residing in his fire home
Thoughts stab corners of his mind

Rocks jut here and there
Upon a desolate waste land
Only zanbar could find beauty here
Where no one dares to tread

A lava river twists and turns
Bodies impaled on spears
You'd think it was the pits of hell
Home this has become

Zanbar sits quietly on a rock
His long white beard hanging down

His eyes weighted down
With years of sin built up

A dragon's head in his lap
Mindlessly stroking his one true friend
The signs of a human are seen
For the man they claimed a beast

With an image in his mind
And a pain that can't erase
A sight they've never seen
And one he's never known

The dragon cuddles closer
Comforting his worn master
Drops of salt leak through
And dissipate to the air

One look is all that's needed
To know what's in this heart
The blackest chambers open up
And a hint of gold is seen

It begins to dawn upon him
The evilness of his ways
Though good and evil mean nothing
He's found someone that does

Zanbar would give up all sin
Never hurt another soul
Lift his head to heaven
Go down on his knees and pray

Zanbar would give his life
The life of all the world
How could a witch's happiness
Mean this much to him?

Torturing souls brought pleasure
Now it sickens him
The lives he's taken
The heart's he's left alone

Zanbar looks in the mirror
And sees a wretched sight
What has given way
For the monster looking back

Was his heart always black?
Was his soul always gone?
Is he now a fool to think?
That love could ever hold?

Eyes turn to his dagger
Sheathed at his side
Conflict grows inside
Slowly he looks away

So close to the end
With out a cause to live
Why does he remain
In a world so full of pain

The pain that he has caused
Which may have never been
His hand reaches out
Grasping the cold dark blade

My love will never see
She'll never want this heart
Even if she did
The world's better off

Closer comes the blade
To his awaiting veins
Close enough to feel
The fire held with in

His skin grows hot
The flesh begins to burn
A stinging pain emits
From the slash made on his wrist

As he presses harder
A voice, a vision appears
One of the Raven
His beautiful love in need

No, how could he
Be so reckless, so
No, he must live
She may need him

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