641. Abbadon Poem by Jaden Knight

Abbadon sits on his tall marble throne
overlooking the last great city
the last powerful ruler of a once great civilisation
where there had been beautiful buildings filled with joy
now only haunting ruins and piles of stone remain
barely lit by the dying red sun above

No tears streamed down his face
as his midnight eyes are cold
the old man's only warmth comes from the large white jewel
embedded in the head of the tall onyx staff
held tightly in his withering right hand

He had originally arrived in peace to learn
when the world was young and full of potential
clothed in pure white robes that glowed
the people welcomed him though he was a sorcerer
and for centuries they prospered with his wisdom and magic

Though he was wise he was not all knowing
and his lust for more power started the great war
in his attempt to end the conflict with a series of spells
he only succeeded in bringing rains of fire and death

With their dying breath one uttered a curse
that Abbadon would age but not die
stripped of most of his magic and strength
doomed to roam the world alone until its end

His only companion is the freezing wind
biting his tattered black robes
every gust is filled with the screams of his victims
so he can never know any rest or sleep

Even when the world finally ends
and his physical form is no more
his spirit will be forced to endure
bringing corruption to all who hear his whispers
offering to feed their own destructive lust
for more knowledge and power
so he is not the only one to fall into darkness