Through ashen skies and hollowed moans,
he rides atop a throne of bones.
A demented white god leading the mythic Wild Hunt,
followed by an army of the dead—
shadows trailing, breathless, unfed.
Drums of ruin, hooves like thunder,
shatter silence, tear worlds asunder.
Hollow-eyed wraiths with frozen breath,
marching forth in the name of death.
The All-Seeing One, standing apart,
dripping in his synthetic opulence,
gilded hands but an empty heart,
watching ruin in indifference.
He sees the Hunt, yet takes no stand,
a phantom wrapped in golden strands.
Through endless night their fury sings—
the Wild Hunt rides, and death it brings.
©oberon
O