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The closest flash of light

Is the distant shining star

That have never seen a putrefying place

Gobbled by the darkness

Which master can find the way

By bones and ashes.

Having lost his real scent

Saturated with the smell of murder

He stained his hands

With streams of blood and became dishonoured.

His death

The only splash of mercy

Are the sharpest claws pierced the ground.

They tear the pile of flesh

Which had beating hearts and pulsing veins.

And now it’s drowned in soil

Covered with tree waste and forgotten.

His death

The potion of heartless chained his will.

The edges of his robe ignited the ground.

Among these forks of the severe flame

He feels no pain of the burnt skin.

Among this brightest dazzling light

He sees the darkness of the crypt.

When the essence touches his lips

Vultures will come flying

To perceive the walking dead

Free of thoughts of dying.

Having no real cause

To refuse to eat the desired prey

They’ll retreat with an awful sense

To fly away and never return.

His death