Through The Valley Of Mount Chimaera

If the silence breaks,

I hope your gold crumbles upon me like dust;

Caught between the cusp,

we tasted a brevity, not short and sweet,

but as consuming as the flame which burns

on testamented trust.

And as I glimmer, a newfound thing,

a burning blaze of aurum,

enshrouded in a majesty

like the decadence of boredom,

I twist against the agony

that looms like Hades’ quarry;

a flame to raze a man’s fell hope,

a prince’s claim to whoredom.

Toll the bells,

Death’s keeling knell

shall palpitate the earth.

March in robes of sanguine red

through obsidian gates of Hell.