Copyright © T. GhostWolf Davidson.
All rights reserved.
Piracy / Copyright Notice Break out of someone
else's frames here

Final Fantasy

Dark Sun Rising

Twilight ... Blood-red sun sets as the child watches, watches the clouds bleed, reflecting his own wounds; each crimsoned cloud mirroring the slowly clotting streams of flesh and spirit, of mind and soul... The shadows darken as the blood, an eerie dance of slowly writhing, thickening, copper-scented streams echoing the clotting sky without - and the spiraling death within - and the night becomes absolute... absolute as the black despair of the boy-child sitting silently at the window, staring into the Abyss of eternity and death, of taunting spectres, desolation, and cold bitter winds echoing the supplications of dying, forgotten dreams... Apparitions swirl out of the depths, tormented nightmares bearing searing pain... angry maddened eyes driving iron-hard fists into a child's flesh, rending, tearing body and soul as blood and spirit stream silently, unheeded, wasted... Lust-hardened hands groping, invading, violating a child's body and mind, uncaring, cold, merciless satiation as the child's soul shrivels and despairs beneath the onslaught... Knives flashing cold and brilliant, artfully applied, cunningly, efficiently wielded to extract maximum pain with little damage to the child's flesh - yet direful agony to the soul... Ropes binding, suffocating... the child's head held still, eyes forced open to see, to watch the sister, the brother, pay the price for the child's failure to obey... watching the fists pound, hands violate, knives pierce - and watching pain-filled haunted hollow eyes looking back, crying why, why... Dawn comes... The boy-child's haunted, lifeless eyes look out the window into the morning mists... seeing not the birth of another day, but only the dawn of another cycle of despair, pain, suffering, and death... seeing only that final Abyss patiently, quietly waiting, waiting inexorably for the child's last tattered remnants of hope to flutter away, ashlike, in the winds of ultimate despair... The sun rises... and the child surrenders to the Abyss, consumed by the Dark Sun rising... © T. GhostWolf Davidson, February 8th, 2001

[ Prior Poem ]  [ Main TOC ]  [ Chapter 1 ]  [ Chapter 2 ]  [ Chapter 3 ]  [ Next Poem ]

Return to Top
Home Page Email GhostWolf Personal
Biography Art Poetry Writings
Resources Heritage Wolves Web Links Web Links
Last updated: Saturday, 03-Jan-2015 18:12:16 PST