Vermillion

(Author's Note: This poem was published in Pundasyon 10 and is being reposted out of a friend's request. Sharing it to everyone here now. I hope you enjoy.)


Vermillion
by: Ezekiel de Guia


Tell me dear child, what is despair?
Is it when shades howl at twilight's behest?
Nay, that's fear in its blatant unrest.


Then what does it hold if hope has been snuffed?
When chains make you turn from the nightmare's mask,


And wish that the fury you feel that had grown colder,
Lest the cold is worst than Nifleheim's frost,
Fear the law of the world's indignation.


Sanguine offering had the chalice engulfed.
Bitter wine gathered in Malice's flask,
Poured out in enmity, he is feral yet frail.


Fury grown cold, schemes hold with vengeance.
Yet when roused awake, its ire holds no penance.


When the grail is poured out...
When the bitter ale turns sweet...
Your offering has been taken
While thy good deeds are forsaken...


Drink, dear fallen, it is over.