Prelude: Ode To End Poem by Insignia Rose

A prelude of madness.
An overture of sadness.

This dusty soul keeps no remains,
as death is coming as my creaking dead bane.

I see him everywhere, but then I laugh.
As I see, that he is nothing but daft.

Why he would want me?
When no-one else would.

Why would he care?
When I myself cannot.

Wandering this wasteland of barren foes,
I stop at the gates,
Hope, too low.

Gaze longingly at that orb,
as it fills you with warmth.

But this cold feeling,
is coming from the North.

It cackles like a witch in her castle,
cursing me with a fiery haggle.

The greenery freezing over,
the white has now,
gone to closure.

Seeping into the clothes now worn,
the slimy feeling only torn.

The North is where I now stand.
cracking this unholy sand.

A painting of beauty,
A painter but lost;
The colors blending,
Vision... lost.


The wind is now howling,
as I step through,
This ode to a lie,

This ominous prelude.