no rest for the wicked, deranged
if not for finding the long-lost banes
no pardons for the sickly contagious
if not for white cold snow remains

this shadow belongs nowhere
silence overthrows
soundless, speaks louder than storms

a mystery of old, this so-called hate
buried far away from a reaching light
a blazing flame under calm demeanor

no poetry lies in a bed of sorrows
if not so first in a sky of blame
no masks remain in a face of nothingness
if not for smiling on still the same

this heathen belongs in sin
blasphemy overcomes
soulless, leaves this place in shame

little flickery thing, this so-called hope
lures into a deep lake of darkness
a candlelight lonely in a castle of regrets