Spirits

The ghost keeps a thankless vigil his voiceless cry shattering against the walls of stone within his tower. This wraith of might and memory still lights the torch. While he grows weary cold eyes hunger. The unseen war in waning hours The beast is patient, the death of a shadow, Chains and chills, ice and iron. To steal the warmth of life long broken. The death rattle weaves a leaden fog from stolen threads. Things long forgot held fast with bonds and oaths unspoken. The battle is shrouded behind the hills, And waged in darkness between the stars. The lifeless fire false, unforgiving. Of vital sins while revealing truth To each man, His ghost and beast are doomed To die. Unknown. Ever living.