Liar, Liar [POEM]

Heart of cold,

Eyes of death,

Beware the curse

that lingers around his name.

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                     So, Chernobog. Who is he? Well,

                     here ya go!~

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╭          Bit of a Warning          ╮

Heavy Themes

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╭─── ｡(＾･ᆺ･＾)｡ ───╮

Liar, Liar

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ıllı Hi-Rez Studios ıllı

Artist

#PoemsByKyrie

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Since aeons past, we say not his name,

Even in whispers from foreign tongue

Do we dissuade mere mentions of it,

For he listens, and he listens well,

A tyrant with eyes like glowing suns,

Patron of all things malevolent,

Of malignant promises, and one

Whose heart's as cold as Jǫtunheimar,

He calls the writhing shadows his home

And celebrates the death of the sun;

Madness is seen all over his face,

Shown by the kindly light of the moon,

Ah, but this being is not so kind,

Not an ounce of benevolence found,

He smiles, of course, but not for mankind,

But for his reign over chthonic forces,

They had warned us before, of his crown,

A crown of obsidian and thorns,

A symbol akin to Ragnarǫk,

Of the terrible fate of the gods,

Oh, he's not a god, not exactly,

God, yes, but not entirely so,

Confusing like the madness he brings,

But nonetheless, a god-like figure,

Destruction and malice fills his heart,

Pestilence and plagues are his sweet dreams,

His clawed hand reaches for the souls

Of those who were weak and said his name,

He's the black against blackening sky,

Both ebony and midnight as well,

A shade that's dark, darker than what's known,

But his eyes glowed like mocking suns,

Of stones, of ice, sorcery, witchcraft,

A child born from hellfire and spite,

Pastor that leads unholy sabbath

And ringmaster of all disasters,

But as destructive as he is now,

He is patient and willing to wait,

Evil, after all, cannot vanish,

But grows slowly at each ing time,

Generations may have ed, but he

Is still there, hiding in the shadows,

He is a god as much as he is not;

He's not a god as much as he is,

Think of him as a paradox, then,

Who yearns for prayers and praises alike

Yet never the one who gives blessings

But curses invoked from all things grim,

We prayed not for spreading malice, but

To at least spare us from his cruel

Promises that would break anyone,

That would torment us eternally,

Yet despite all these things that I've said,

We knew little to nothing 'bout him

Save for his cruel designs and plans,

Of the wickedness he embodies,

Still, in spite of being so careful,

He still brings to us his blight and wrath,

For he thought we sacrificed ourselves

To this maddening god of darkness,

All for the sake of screaming his name,

He conquers and triumphs over us,

“Chernobog! Chernobog! O spare us!

Chernobog, Lord of Darkness, spare us!”

But his reply… was a cruel smirk.

── =^._.^= ∫ ──

ıllı Andre Iv ıllı

BG Photographer