In a land where darkness reigned, a lord of ruthless fame,
With a heart as cold as midnight, and a mind aflame with cunning game.
A master of deception, power his constant creed,
He plotted to destroy his foe, a bitter, ruthless need.

With a gaze as sharp as steel, and a calculating mind,
He lured his enemy into a trap, a scheme so well designed.
His power, a force unstoppable, his strength a deadly wave,
He left no room for mercy, in the path he chose to pave.

He played the game of politics, with a heart devoid of grace,
And as his enemy fell, a cold smile upon his face.
He cared not for the suffering, as long as he emerged victorious,
A lord so cold and callous, his reign so notorious.

With every move, he cut them down, his callousness on display,
A dance of destruction, a price his foes would pay.
But in his ruthless victory, he found a lonely throne,
For the cost of power and cunning left him all alone.

In the end, the lord emerged triumphant, his enemy destroyed,
Yet in his heart, a chilling void, as the world he had employed.
A reminder that in the quest for power, in the ruthless, cold embrace,
One may conquer all, but lose their soul, in the endless power race.

© Folkland