Apostle of Darkness

Before Lazarus was buried in a sepulcher,

Before Hades stole the daughter of Demeter,

Before a spear of mistletoe murdered Baldur,

Before Chronos first waved his scepter,

The Apostle sat alone with his dagger.

In the world of obscurity and blackness,

Atop his dusk throne, his highness

The Apostle commanded the shadows voiceless,

Cimmerians, the shadows lifeless,

In the darkened world flawless.

But the Apostle despised meaningless immortality,

He dreamed of a world where life is deadly,

A place cloaked by the shadow of mystery

And wrapped in a veil of beauty,

Thus the Apostle thrust his knife into reality.

He cut and carved with all his might,

Yearning to escape eternal night

After years of labor, the Apostle cut a gash of white

And the blood that flowed forth was light

For him, this brilliant vein was pyrite

Many Cimmerians escaped into the incision,

Forfeited immortality to be merely human,

But the Apostle could not escape his coffin,

Forever condemned to be the darkness warden

In the land across the world ocean.

All but a few left the Apostle alone,

Into his creation and the vast unknown.

Still he watches, viewing every fatal cyclone,

Observing every death and subsequent moan,

Constantly wishing he could abandon his throne.