What darkness might my dark hands wreak,
in darkened halls,
where darkness speaks?
What fractures might fair fingers form,
and shattering dawn-scattering,
in smashing’s sweet seduction song;
the sound of cracking, cracking on?
What horror might my dread heart sing
into shadows from nothing,
from briny depths deeper than the sea;
the scaly abyss,
abyss of me.
What darkened things might arise,
when weaving shadows like lies,
’til in a cloak of deadened night,
I come, hungry, for your light.