Coup de Grace

[Othman]

The Acolyte

Sentinels of wind embrace the darkened midnights,

A honed blade converges to caress my heart.

Love for benediction is the will of our young knights,

Till cursed clergy are reinforced with a seal of might.

Indentation of grace charter the boulevard of anguish,

Whispers hamper the delinquent bids of a forlorn ordeal,

Despite the woe, the distorted villains retain to wish,

In the futile attempts to delude an odd and naive zeal.

55 minutes remaining

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On the uncharted lagoons of anguish, I sail with a canoe made of my sins.