As the flame engulfs
the entirity of the pages.

Wrinkled. Spit on.
Shaped iron; Cast away.
Left for the blazing fire.

With powerful and grand tongues,
from those spoken long ago;
The Ancient Elder Mages.

A Magick spell;
He whispers to the Ashe:

"With creation of my gains,
O Succubus, no longer do I dwell!
My willpower legendary.
You may had been one of the greats,
Like the lyrics, within the song of a canary.
You forgot that of which I hold,
That is, one of the most rarest hearts of gold.
You no longer have reign. I've called your bluff.
You have no control here anymore."

Surrounding deeper in the gray fluff,
suffacating slowly; the flame.
Leaving the emotions of the past.
My soul refreshed, renewed, and ready.

Ready to take on my own demons,
Instead of you. I make my own mold.
The only control here, is the strength
Of willpower, of which I behold.
I am me. I am the Wolf-Fox. I am bold.


© LoneWolfPoems