By Will Kellock
I watched the sun bleed,
Spilling blood onto the horizon.
As it slipped into unconsciousness,
All around stood silent,
Their mourning garb already fitted
And the funeral dirge quietly played.
Above this murderous scene
A pale smile grinned,
Maniacal, with menace in its expression;
The overlord, the bringer of pain.
It is here, where all become dark,
And the great goddess is slain,
At the precipice between realms
I find myself embracing the madness,
The chaos, from which stars are made.
The sun, her flaming wreath extinguished,
No more illuminates my path.
Instead, a multitude of generous hosts
Shine forth to guide my way,
And the wicked one, who upon high grins
Bids me to wander thus,
Ever in awe of the plethora of phantoms
That he has so arranged for me.
And so it is that I pass into this realm,
From light unto eternal darkness,
But in the absence of the sun
I find that light still shines.
And it is ever more pleasing to behold.
Will Kellock is in the final year of an English and German degree at Manchester Met. He writes under the name The Purple Poet.
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