THE WARLORD
The warlord marches along the plain
Plodding through the drenching rain
No hunted peace to this man comes
His power is gone, he begins to run.
The rain keeps coming, pouring down
Pounding heavily against the ground
The shadows are calling, slowly forward creeping.
The only sound, his labored breathing.
The void appears in his path ahead
The calling darkness mirrors terror and regret
Over many evil things done
Since his journey had begun.
The clawing void reveals its demon face,
Gathers his essence into its poison embrace
The fruit of greed, a lightless death
The sum of all pain caused awaits him next.