Poetry for the Lost

23

The Red Hood 

by Chad98

 Beware the Man who's cloaked in red, 

 Bound and branded by gods long dead. 

 Devoid of meaning, eternal, undead, 

 He seeks new purpose in a painter unnamed. 

 To paint a world, cold yet gentle, 

The painter needs pigment, dark as shadows. 

 The Man set out on his final journey, 

 The land of man, built on deceit. 

Within the Ringed City, imprisoned by Light, 

Lies Pygmy Lords, withered by time. 

 Within their blood, body, and soul, 

 The color of man, humanity, the Dark Soul. 

 The Man was distraught, enraged by dried blood,

He devoured the Lords and make them as one. 

 From light to dust, feasting on Pygmies, 

 The Dark Soul of man, overflowing His body.

 Despite success in fallen kingdoms,

 His body deformed, and mind twisted. 

 Trap at the end, with pigment in hand, 

He hold to purpose for His lady unnamed. 

 Beware the Man who's cloaked in red,

For those who seek the Dark Soul of man.

 At worlds end, not gods or kings, 

 But Unkindled Ash and Slave Knight Gael.