The Elders

A villanelle? I think? An attempt at some kind of structure, anyway.


Through fogged window panes and a lungful of smoke.
Through cracked-memory faces and shoulders that break.
I breathe in your burden and it sets to choke.


I cannot express what it means that you broke.
The surface of kindred, whose blood-thirst we slake.
Through fogged window panes and a lungful of smoke.


But the dread ones are trembling, the fell ones awoke.
We ran from the hands of creators who make.
I breathe in your burden and it sets to choke.


The night will consume us, beneath a black cloak.
Silence will fall, though it seems all too fake.
Through fogged window panes and a lungful of smoke.


The crucible fires that we're set to stoke.
In the fires of Heaven or Hell we will bake.
I breathe in your burden and it sets to choke. 


But deep in the blood of the elders we soak.
We'll stride to the ones who did wrong and they'll quake.
Through fogged window panes and a lungful of smoke
I breathe in your burden and it sets to choke.