Lore

born upon the cusp of revelation a consciousness awakened by the dawn a primitive undying fascination moved the hand that carved into the stone faces change, thought returns to dust ashen countenance, holy rust I am compendium trapped inside the cultish hall of mirrors taught to worship self-destructing flaws running now, the ravens getting nearer fighting off the gnashing of the claws this is the weight of heartbreak this is the weight of life a thunder at the temple silencing endless strife

Submitted by BloodShrine — Apr 26, 2025

the whispering night tracks in the snow crossing the threshold of what we all know crimson immortal elysian fields stems of good fortunes they've been reaping for years seek words of wisdom spurning the lore weavers of fate have cast on the shore we seek lives of holiness and finding nothing in its place the grace of the gods a fire gone out on the banks of the lands once so firmly devout a wringing of hands facing the dark hollow and dead what we know in our hearts

Submitted by Cyberwaste — Apr 26, 2025

angelic visions hewn in white a relic sacred, gift divine bathed in sallow golden light piercing the vessels of mankind who kneels before the mantle gold projecting thoughts into the sphere where light dissolved manipulates the aeons cold austere the inner chamber stands agape the void benign and whispering a feather carves a crescent path age-hardened is giving in the seeds we've sewn rising forth the sons of trite and jealous birth who wash their hands in blood and soil a golden light an earthly toil

Submitted by johnmansley — Apr 26, 2025

the burden of freedom's weight yearning for form and shape riddles they spoke in tongues yearning for life undone hands upon the oak at the end of time and we scream the oath crushing the weak and grinding on wheels of eternity foregone lay dead weight

Submitted by Infernal Flame — Apr 26, 2025

a temple and a labyrinth beckoning across the void resentment for the tragedy in the face of what's destroyed a journeyer on the wayward path spirit at aphelion denizens of wood and plain gather at the setting sun reign of mist bearing down fateless and degenerate enraptured by the olden words futility regenerates

Submitted by Celtic Frost — Apr 26, 2025