The Darkness of Christmas

The silence swarms and conforms,
drives the best to the sea of mad,
the silence is a beast, not to be born,
which imbues fright, or just a tad

in every listener’s heart, silence is a scare,
to be deaf to stalked by himself,
whether you are mute to your hair,
or watched by the Lord of the Elf

but a silent army can kill its call,
by rallying to slick black glass,
cheering with their palms open,
stomping their feet on black grass,

when the morphing army charges,
to take the sullen abyss,
the Devil may face them,
to simply pester as a cyst

The army could stop their yell,
and perish to the flame,
or could scream for their king,
so the Devil would be tame

to be afraid is quite the curse,
more specific that the pass of rock,
over the time flies forwards,
for the sullen purse

orange is deep in naught but a shade,
elves, goblins, orcs, trolls,
corruption deeper than a horde’s soul,
each and every mind shall roll

a ring or a stone can grasp,
the heart and pitch of silence,
but they all lead to a single essence,
the pure black and hellish violence

By Shivang Shelat

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