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    The Call
    I see him in the distance a tall solitary figure
    Cloaked in power but tainted with vengeance
    His hand reaches out
    Not to hold
    But to bring his world to his knees
    I look to see his humanity
    But it has long gone
    All that’s remains are the tattered fragments
    What kind of man is this?
    Who would have such hunger for destruction
    There is no light shinning, no illumination
    But a glow, a flicker
    Those outreached fingers are lit from within
    Ready to unleash the fury

    I seek his face for his eyes
    And find a hollow cold hard gleam
    There is no joy
    There is no hope
    Both have fled to hearts that can still feel love
    His feet are standing on the ground soaked
    With the blood and tears of the past
    He sees them not. For he has no past
    For which he cries
    And has no future for which he bleeds
    He turns, his cloaks swirls and in its shadows
    Shimmers the evil he has become
    Each tread away from me echoes as a heart beat.
    And then…I hear the voice

    A single word
    Not spoken out aloud
    But as a command birthed
    From within the well of my own pain
    A promise to destroy
    A promise to crumble into ruins
    The weakness of my flesh
    I step forward to meet his darkness
    His eyes compels me to draw near
    To look beyond the mortal scope
    And to see the beauty of chaos
    And as I watch him walk away
    I hear the single word again
    “Come”…and… I follow