Formløse Stjerner

At the end of the world Where the spirit gnaws the bone Ashes strewn across the last bastion The fire has grown old Winter has beset us The embers flies wearily against the sky An impending wall of crushing cold The moon cries no more for her visionaries The mystics of grief The sun no longer cherishes his children of light The prophets of radiant knowledge Solitary moans emanates from the ruins Of oncе prould strongholds The shield is shatterеd and the spear is broken Dreams of the past triumphs Armour-clad, marching through the marshes At dawn the sun hazily spears the mist Through blood and labour And greeted by moon and trumpet as clear as The morning dew From the towers gleaming in stars of the eve So let us sit in our rags by the last embers Its final light sets afire our dreams And visions possess us with sorrow The last light has flickered out Come now, lay down beside me In the now cold halls of our forebears And surrender to the grip of darkness And (eternal) winter

Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 03, 2026

You parched mouth of sky Rolled up like a scroll, you offer no solace Apathetic, watching unbroken chains of woe The silent machinery of horror Grinding away endlessly on these plains Upon this field I will set the first stone A monument to the first defiance Cursed skin, endlessly trudging Through mud and dead stars alike Ascending through storm clouds On the stairs of uncreation Fist and sword raised in spite, ablaze in purest hate I tighten the grip on the throat of these stars Suffocating the lustrous еvil eyes Of the falsеly exalted Now all lie dead by my hand Hurled out into the cold void I sheathe my wrath and drift into silent slumber Dreaming of verses featureless Strange whispers emanates from the ruins A low hum of malignant breath Out of the darkness a dark song arise A word of dominion beckons creation Promulgation of vile matter once again Cast down to the pits of existence Awake in the ossuary and over yonder Screeching in disharmony The wheel turns…

Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 03, 2026

The awning is breached The dance of light across the sky has frozen Death masks gloating and dripping from above Every drop a gateway of shadows Into what is not From the mouth of the deep The strange calm beckons A silent world void of dissent Cold air fills black lungs The jaw of uncreation opens And vapour rises as the old world soul diminish A false breath, a pulse in the cold Absorbing the marrow of stars The mightiest tower of the gods fall now Curse the word itself Let silence again fall upon these waters Curse the word itself Let silence ring out upon these waters Still and dreaming Be still now Be still

Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 03, 2026

Uddrevet fra munde frådende Udformet til væren fra fordærvelsen Ånder uden øjne til at se harver jorden Nye skygger skabes, kastet ind i de forarmede himle Fyldt med stjerner uden form Osende gab i den fænomenologiske jord Tænder knejsende mod de forpestede skyer Forbandelsеr ruller ind fra alle kardinale hjørnеr De tager form i nye rædsler og lagdes i den gispende jord Fyldt med stjerner uden form Fængslet i denne verden med lyset berøvet Lænker i tusmørkets favn, solen stedt til hvile Skyerne fortættes og forsamles nu En sidste stille aftensang for denne verden, jeg drømmer ej mere; Blot om stjerner uden form

Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 03, 2026