A Fallen God’s Whispers

A name written in ink,
a fleeting breath extinguished—
the weight of dominion presses, cold and relentless,
like brittle glass breaking in a quiet room.

Haunted by the harsh calculus of fate,
eyes sharpened by cursed sight,
piercing the veil where shadows reside,
a lone king on a throne of dashed hopes.

The void’s silent lament suffocates hope’s frail flicker
as regret seeps into the space between heartbeats
like ink stains on parchment.

When the scales tilt under the weight of souls,
What justice is left?

A whispered prayer is lost to the winds
as a fallen god mourns in the midnight silence.