Words Of The Dead

A Poem by Trosque

Another nightmare, it was the late 1800s I believe, I dreamed that I dreamed I had visions of hell, the poor man, I was him, but at the same time I wasn't, I believe his name was Daniel....

Words of the dead, stained blood red, how they race through my head.
How they seek their will to be done, and their words, longing to be sung.

Those words of the dead, how they fill me with dread, they long to live, as they said,
Forever, yet they live no longer, and will not ever...

Still they call and scream and plead in vain, as they request for me to end their pain.
Yet I cannot understand their suffering, at least not yet, until one of them paid me a visit, The Master of Dead.

In my nightmares he showed me, what they fear and why they scream, its a fear unmentionable, ripping your mind at its seams.
Let your eyes not witness their world of pain, lest on your soul be forever a dark black stain.

Their voices still call out to me to this very day, and until the day I join them, or so they say...