Halls of the Wooden Undead

By Ashes-Onik
May 17th, 2014

Our oaken halls, home to many a silent soul
Ageless, unseen by man
Earth concealed by swirling mist
At our reins, eterneties of death
Our black spires rise with the autumn moon
Nothingness opens to our call

We lie with stone and shadow, bereft of living being
Omniscient we watch
A curse of dark we ceaselessly abide
We know no fire, no touch or time
Just beyond your world
To consume as we stand

Bark, bare, taken by shadow
Leaves ravaged by unnatural cold
Roots as dust, heed not us or misshapen ground
Rotting our being of legion

A forgotten peace our history
Endless green before darkness known
Never to feel warmth of the day
Unmoving, belonging to no space
A breath from beyond, come to whisper our fate
Still we remain

In wake of the void we spread
Burdened to be all and nothing
Miasmic wind our creation
Unbeing and undead
Time's river withers our legacy
Lost to perception, we are the end


© 2022 Ashes-Onik