Undone

Now he stands, frozen before the fall,
In the moment of its final ascent,
Trembling in the wake of the dark crawl,
The screaming masses reek of dissent,

The dark royalty runs deep in blood,
And the blade still remains his glory,
In crystal dreams of breathing mud,
He watches the metamorphises of the awry,

Yea, what battle is won beneath the hill,
But the dictat is to return with gold,
With tired spirits and broken will,
But nay, their souls aren't yet sold,

But he stands, him the solitary,
For the pit stares back at him now,
The vortex of the twisted story,
As the slithering beasts begin to howl,

And yet in that darkest hour,
When the hand of the Devil was lent,
Within himself, he found a tower,
And from it, his quivering spirit lept...