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Description

Beyond Pretences

Stalking around in the dark is a hunter.

He hunts through shadows like no other.

Stealthiness is one his side, footsteps light.

With claws stained black, teeth sharp, he'll fight.

He is a king of the nightmare realm.

Defiant in nature, cruel in his words.

Too stubborn to bow, selfish to share.

Will not lay his feelings, emotions, bare.

He is a master of deception

and upon your first reception,

you wouldn't find the truth

in the darkness laden proof.

A million masks he wears;

of joy; of spite; of sympathy.

But beyond the blackness, if look past you dare

you'll find specks of light in the depths of despair.

And when the cloak of shadows comes undone,

when the shadows are forced to hide and run,

when the light pierces their raven black soul,

you can see the pieces broken from a whole.

.

.

.

~{K.A.B.P}~

.

.

.

Practice Makes Humiliation

I raced against my fate,

but forgot to look beyond hate.

I sought through cracks

and peered through gaps,

I searched for an escape.

I hid where I could from humiliation.

I tried to bring down person and nation.

Only to defend my weakened self

to find my long lost bravery and strength.

Instead, I crashed down hard.

I am fear's master, or so I've thought;

that is what I myself have taught.

Yet fear is a mighty and fickle thing like me,

keeping it on a leash is never that easy.

It brought me down, down so deep.

I've always prided myself on stubbornness,

to fight back I used words of spitefulness.

Like a dog, I would bark, but never would bite,

I simply wanted them out of mind and sight.

For what the eyes don't see, doesn't hurt the heart.

Yet then as I stood on such thin ice,

I knew power would never suffice.

For a giant can so easily fall,

when a group of heroes you call.

I knew it would too.

Darting, my eyes searched from side to side,

yet I couldn't stop my eyes growing wide.

What I saw was hunters on the prowl,

my nightmares, watching with a growl.

Outnumbered, weak as I'd been before.

There was no escape, no hope for mercy,

which came to me as a controversy.

They were the good guys and me bad.

Yet I felt more sympathy than they had.

Oh, the great irony. But I couldn't laugh.

That was when I broke and finally ran;

I had been capable of fear, like any man.

I never thought for how much dignity I'd lost,

I tried to escape, and look what all it had cost.

Still, I was doomed, drag down.

Try to live through the tearing of tender flesh.

Try to live through the torment, always so fresh.

Try to live your hands tied down the wings cut off,

Try to be trapped, feet underground, you won't scoff.

Try to be chained to past and present, your future taken.

(I am a broken spirit, do not let yourself be mistaken.)

.

.

.

~{K.A.B.P}~

.

.

.

How Villains Are Made

Men in the mist,

enemies in the midst.

Hearing the metal crash

hearing screams; bodies thrash.

There in the fields of golden grass

lays a limp, bloodied, gory mass.

They say the ages were Golden.

Those which were so evil-ridden.

And even in the castles of light

you faced off other men with fright.

Dressed even in moonshine and magic

there are men who make life tragic.

When bloodied from battle you come

and listen to the birds' melancholy hum,

you know that only animals feel true remorse

as you drag home that mangled, bloodied corpse.

Your lover, your friend, your soldier dipped in crimson.

You look to the sky, to the grey-clad and bleak horizon.

There's not even a grave to be found in the cemeteries,

in spite of honour, they won't be remembered for centuries.

For who would care about a rebel who died a saviour?

Who would ever return and grant them a favour?

Pche, the Golden ages. Hearts may be as cold as gold;

here the darkness of the medieval times is tenfold.

Manipulation and deceit between the ranks,

we may not have guns, rockets and tanks.

But our tongues are deadly and vengeful.

Even the ones supposedly good are spiteful.

You get dragged to the top on a golden lead

and eat up the lies and trickery they feed.

I'd been a fool, I'd been stripped of dignity.

I've been brought down beyond humility.

I had become a puppet, a doll to dress up and play

with a master with whom they expected I'd stay.

The locket on my neck even as I fell beyond

was a collar, a lethal and melancholy bond.

Pushed into a prison and driven mad.

Do you really think you've had it bad?

Whispered taunts and mockings from the past,

the beasts tried and wondered how long I'd last.

To say I never wanted this is an understatement;

a punishment born from jealousy and resentment.

I sought other rooms in my mind, goodness if I could find.

Yet never were the bad memories left straggling too far behind.

I remembered trusting, the haunting cries of fearlings haunting caves.

I remembered falling, pinned to the rocks, drowning in merciless waves.

I remembered the pain as hands, teeth, knives and ropes had been used.

I remember being punished. I remember being repeatedly, coldly abused.

Do you really want to know a hero's past?

Because I'm rather certain a curse was cast.

I was never meant for the light, but rather for dark

and as the fears called at me, they made their mark.

As a hero falls, screams, begs and finally dies,

no one hears the newly formed villain's cries.

Description

Beyond Pretences

Stalking around in the dark is a hunter.

He hunts through shadows like no other.

Stealthiness is one his side, footsteps light.

With claws stained black, teeth sharp, he'll fight.

He is a king of the nightmare realm.

Defiant in nature, cruel in his words.

Too stubborn to bow, selfish to share.

Will not lay his feelings, emotions, bare.

He is a master of deception

and upon your first reception,

you wouldn't find the truth

in the darkness laden proof.

A million masks he wears;

of joy; of spite; of sympathy.

But beyond the blackness, if look past you dare

you'll find specks of light in the depths of despair.

And when the cloak of shadows comes undone,

when the shadows are forced to hide and run,

when the light pierces their raven black soul,

you can see the pieces broken from a whole.

.

.

.

~{K.A.B.P}~

.

.

.

Practice Makes Humiliation

I raced against my fate,

but forgot to look beyond hate.

I sought through cracks

and peered through gaps,

I searched for an escape.

I hid where I could from humiliation.

I tried to bring down person and nation.

Only to defend my weakened self

to find my long lost bravery and strength.

Instead, I crashed down hard.

I am fear's master, or so I've thought;

that is what I myself have taught.

Yet fear is a mighty and fickle thing like me,

keeping it on a leash is never that easy.

It brought me down, down so deep.

I've always prided myself on stubbornness,

to fight back I used words of spitefulness.

Like a dog, I would bark, but never would bite,

I simply wanted them out of mind and sight.

For what the eyes don't see, doesn't hurt the heart.

Yet then as I stood on such thin ice,

I knew power would never suffice.

For a giant can so easily fall,

when a group of heroes you call.

I knew it would too.

Darting, my eyes searched from side to side,

yet I couldn't stop my eyes growing wide.

What I saw was hunters on the prowl,

my nightmares, watching with a growl.

Outnumbered, weak as I'd been before.

There was no escape, no hope for mercy,

which came to me as a controversy.

They were the good guys and me bad.

Yet I felt more sympathy than they had.

Oh, the great irony. But I couldn't laugh.

That was when I broke and finally ran;

I had been capable of fear, like any man.

I never thought for how much dignity I'd lost,

I tried to escape, and look what all it had cost.

Still, I was doomed, drag down.

Try to live through the tearing of tender flesh.

Try to live through the torment, always so fresh.

Try to live your hands tied down the wings cut off,

Try to be trapped, feet underground, you won't scoff.

Try to be chained to past and present, your future taken.

(I am a broken spirit, do not let yourself be mistaken.)

.

.

.

~{K.A.B.P}~

.

.

.

How Villains Are Made

Men in the mist,

enemies in the midst.

Hearing the metal crash

hearing screams; bodies thrash.

There in the fields of golden grass

lays a limp, bloodied, gory mass.

They say the ages were Golden.

Those which were so evil-ridden.

And even in the castles of light

you faced off other men with fright.

Dressed even in moonshine and magic

there are men who make life tragic.

When bloodied from battle you come

and listen to the birds' melancholy hum,

you know that only animals feel true remorse

as you drag home that mangled, bloodied corpse.

Your lover, your friend, your soldier dipped in crimson.

You look to the sky, to the grey-clad and bleak horizon.

There's not even a grave to be found in the cemeteries,

in spite of honour, they won't be remembered for centuries.

For who would care about a rebel who died a saviour?

Who would ever return and grant them a favour?

Pche, the Golden ages. Hearts may be as cold as gold;

here the darkness of the medieval times is tenfold.

Manipulation and deceit between the ranks,

we may not have guns, rockets and tanks.

But our tongues are deadly and vengeful.

Even the ones supposedly good are spiteful.

You get dragged to the top on a golden lead

and eat up the lies and trickery they feed.

I'd been a fool, I'd been stripped of dignity.

I've been brought down beyond humility.

I had become a puppet, a doll to dress up and play

with a master with whom they expected I'd stay.

The locket on my neck even as I fell beyond

was a collar, a lethal and melancholy bond.

Pushed into a prison and driven mad.

Do you really think you've had it bad?

Whispered taunts and mockings from the past,

the beasts tried and wondered how long I'd last.

To say I never wanted this is an understatement;

a punishment born from jealousy and resentment.

I sought other rooms in my mind, goodness if I could find.

Yet never were the bad memories left straggling too far behind.

I remembered trusting, the haunting cries of fearlings haunting caves.

I remembered falling, pinned to the rocks, drowning in merciless waves.

I remembered the pain as hands, teeth, knives and ropes had been used.

I remember being punished. I remember being repeatedly, coldly abused.

Do you really want to know a hero's past?

Because I'm rather certain a curse was cast.

I was never meant for the light, but rather for dark

and as the fears called at me, they made their mark.

As a hero falls, screams, begs and finally dies,

no one hears the newly formed villain's cries.