February Fireflies

Snowy meadows, empty and silent
but for the gentle breath escaping
in curling, wispy, tendrils from
the chapped lips of a sleeping boy
His face so soft and round, cherub-like
cheeks, dry and rosy in the cold
bowed lips, barely together, hold
the battle cry of his restless
Spirit, so fierce and violent

His dreams are haunted  
by clear, emerald eyes
glittering in the night
like a million fireflies
flittering to and fro
between the stars
He wishes upon once more
for the soothing secret
caress of her fingertips
She told him lightest of the truths
Taints him with the sweetest lies..

Never surrender, my love,” she whispers
“Fight for me, if nothing else.”
He’s lost inside her emerald eyes
Wandering forever, aimless, mesmerized
By the promise of her lips
Puckered and waiting in forbidden kiss
Her soft and supple flesh beneath him
Heart beats rapid, he can barely breathe
She fits him like a custom sheath
The overlord bellows, soldiers gather ’round
The Sleeping boy wakes to battle sounds
He jumps up as the stars fall down
Ready to fight, prepared to die
her last image fading from his mind
as he raises his sword Slaughter
for the gods to bless, it will not falter
swift with honor, thirst for victory
he will burn his name into History
I, dear father, your forgotten son
the begotten son by the pretty whore
you had for a night, then kicked out the door
I, dear father, shall usurp your throne
and I shall win by myself, alone,
Just as I stole your pretty wife.
The one with the big green eyes.
She told me all your secrets
She revealed to you all my lies.
We were both fools, Father.
Blind to Beauty’s betrayal
Prideful gluttons, driven mad by
Passionate jealousies and hungry desires
Perhaps we both deserved the pyre
And the dagger to the spine by fragile hands
The payment for all our impossible demands
You were the king of monsters, dear father
And I, your bastard son, as well, I
AINDRÃS: Son of Cael, The King 
Great and mighty Lord of pain and suffering
He conquered all who dare raise arms against
The Kingdom of brutal, ten-fold recompense”
He screams into the emptiness
The battle, lost, echoes in his head
I am the bastard son, King of the Dead
Great and mighty lord of the damned
Master of Nothing, Kingdom of barren lands
Down he lays, to rest again
Laden with his woes
Heavy is the burden of a 100,000 souls
No peace found in fretful slumber
No blissful dreams of love
Only the tortured screams of fallen men
As they died loyal to the Crown of
Heartless kings and bastard sons

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