Poison vapours

etched in gloom.

Ghastly, void,

vacant, the guardian of

a chained black gate.

Never sleeping;

eyes, as heads,

unnumbered;

waiting for heroes

to seal their fate.

In legends torn

from clay cast bright

we may witness

fire and blades and bows;

such blood-fuelled spite.

Now all too real;

slowly shed,

the skin of time;

a...

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