Whispers in the Bark.
In the roots of this enchanting tree
You chose a life of mischief and decree

Tears, corrode the ancient bark
This path leads to the dark.

Alone, in this dynasty you closed your eyes,
Despite hearing the fairies cries

Projections of facing the lights,
Dancing in the midst of Fables and sprites

You conjured your name and proclaimed yourself king,
You, the feather of the same corrupted wing.

Sylphs awaken, gales arising, ready to strike,
To restore what was once lifelike.

© L.B Rheaven

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