Dominion’s Descent
Harboring hearts in the heat of hell’s hold,
hunger hewn from the havoc that harbingers herald.
Powers plucked from the pit, ploys perilously proposed,
sovereigns of sin, so silently supposed.
Hell’s power, in the pulse of the underworld’s pace,
a kingdom crafted in chaos, caught in the cradle’s caress.
Fear’s fire feeds the forge, where fate’s flames grow,
a throne thrives in the throes, where the wretched reap what they sow.
Beneath burdens, the bastions of bedlam are built,
with whispers woven within walls of woe and guilt.
Echoes embittered by the edges of the eons’ end,
legions languish, their loyalties left to bend.
Dominion’s descent, draped in the dark’s delight,
a fabric of turmoil, tangled in the tyrant’s might.
The crown’s cruel caress, commanding the core,
rulers rise and reign, riveted to the roar.