Pen to parchment.
Layer in the storm.
Create mannerism.
Make them all conform.
These are the rites.
Our last call nights.
Don’t feed the meek or you’ll be gone.
Ink stains new flesh.
Bringing in old death.
Make innocent confess.
Scream for the hills.
Wrap across the knuckles.
Cut off their chuckles.
These are motivations of the sick not norm.
Bay for blood in mountains passes.
Partake in the ritual of grasses.
Weave the wicker into shape.
Grab the blade and take, take , take!
Misery built in profile.
Each sentence you speak helps to defile.
Scroll in lock box.
Riders on their way.
Doom’s final kiss.
Rejoice in acidic decay.
For what is written will come true.
No getting out for you.
Determination has been sealed with signet and wax.
Simon A Jackson - Writer 