-- Taken from the 
Chieko
Mask of Mog-ur 
A thing of Ghast, sits lone atop The head of Ancient men. Men whom vision death and life Of untold gloom - of then. He lunges thus, his body fluid A dancer of the fire .. Of the entrails left by ashes, A man whom calls none 'sire'.. Aye, a Shaman, call him that You - a mortal - fools. For he knows secrets.. whispered from.. The icy lips of ghouls .. His black-garbed body gracefully, Conveys a tale of Death Of dying Soldiers - lost husbands.. In Sobs with their last breath. The thing of Skulls upon his face Is chilling to the sight .. It brings you fear, insight and void.. Just seeing Bone-bleached white. His eyes are gone, replaced with Black. Two holes of drowning sorrow .. For what once lived - now is dead. What with remains shall borrow .. Hairs of undead grow atop The fallen, ghastly thing .. Yet when he moves, his dance of death .. Along with him they sing .. The Raging Flames glisten his body In tune with Ritual chant .. Of Spirits, long-dead, wishful for life While they listen to his rant .. Enchanted by his Mask, they come Throughout his beck and call.. In such trance, he owns their souls.. Yet he shall not let them fall.. He Coo's the dead, brings them warmth, Then suddenly it stops. The chanting, dancing, moving - gone. The Mask of Skulls - it drops. It lay upon the blackened dirt As the Man kneels there too - The Spirits watch him in Confused, Undead, blind-eyed due. Simple words he mutters thus, As the netherworld is breached.. The dead now rest.. The search now done. Their ending has been reached. He grasps the Bones, his hardy mask .. Another deed has passed. He stands and looks t'ward the Moon. "Praise .. Mog-Ur's still last.'
entered by: DarkNja