“Lazokar, Lazokar, let the empire rise.”
Deep within the Balkans
sits a crowned shadow –
eyes fathomless, the spirit of a warrior.
Wrought by the cruelty of a world lost to chains,
he has vowed to never be weak again.
~*~
Lazokar, Lazokar, no longer a slave.
Lazokar, Lazokar, his own sovereign.
Chilly spring brought the promise of a new horizon.
A daemon strange danced and sang in red lace.
A daemon strange evoked the taste of an old crave.
And she danced, and she said,
“Lazokar, Lazokar, let the empire rise”.
~*~
Deep within the Balkans
sits a crowned shadow –
eyes fathomless, the spirit of a warrior.
Holding the hand of a fiend of war,
the empire shall rise wise and energised.
Shrouded by dark that turns into light,
the king burns with faith renewed
in a world of made delight.
~*~
Daemon Red and Shadow Crowned orchestrate and pirouette.
In every breath, they sing and say,
“Let the empire take in upmost eminence”.
~*~
And if there were to come a time
when oblivion sieges the black sovereign,
the daemon fierce still will stand –
still will vocalise,
“Lazokar, Lazokar, let the empire rise”.
In soulful bane night,
the daemon red still shall slay the enemies of the crown –
spreading the venom of liberty for all frailty to chock down.
The Nocturnal Versifier 